The Mighty Heart of Sunny St. James Read online

  And now, I have my new heart and my New Life and I don’t have to do it all alone. Quinn’s on a mission too. With me.

  Margot drags her hand through the sand and huffs a breath. “I just don’t get it, Sunny. Did I do something wrong?”

  I shake my head and hug my knees even tighter to my body. I don’t look at her. If I look at her, I’ll end up telling her everything, and if I tell her everything, she’ll just laugh at me again.

  “Fine,” she snaps, demolishing the little sand pyramid she was building. “You know, I hope whoever gave you your new heart was a lot nicer than you are. Maybe it’ll rub off.”

  I whip my head toward her, my mouth hanging wide open. She looks pretty surprised herself, but before she can say sorry or spit in my eye or whatever else she was going to do, I see Quinn standing there with three cans of Coke in her hands, looking at me like I’ve got snakes for hair.

  “New heart?” she asks. “What are you talking about?”

  My face goes nuclear and my heart isn’t doing much better. It feels like it’s about to bust right out of my chest and answer Quinn’s question itself.

  “Um, you didn’t tell her?” Margot asks. Her jaw is in the sand. I want to yank it back up and tape it shut.

  “Tell me what?” Quinn asks. “Are you okay, Sunny?”

  She looks so concerned that it makes me want to hug her. And I would, if I wasn’t melting into a puddle of embarrassment right now. It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell Quinn my whole deal—we’re best friends, after all—but for today, I liked not being the Heart Disease Girl. I liked that Quinn didn’t know. I liked that she looked at me and smiled a real smile instead of that fake, pitying-worried-nosy smile everyone else uses whenever they’re around me.

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  Quinn still looks terrified, her knuckles white on the soda cans.

  “She’s okay now,” Margot says. “But she had a heart—”

  “Will you shut up?” I snap.

  “You had a heart what?” Quinn asks. “What happened?”

  I shake my head. I know I should just say it—I had a heart transplant—but the words get all stuck in my throat. Because my heart is gone. The heart I was born with doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s in some medical waste dump or has been incinerated or something. I don’t even know what happened to it. How could I not have asked Dr. Ahmed what they did with my heart?

  Every now and then—like right now, thanks a heap, Margot—everything that’s happened since we got that call about my donor heart really hits me and I don’t know what it all means. My head swims and my non-Sunny heart pounds and I wonder if I’m still me and wondering just gets me laughed at and I just want to go home. I want to lay my head in Kate’s lap and watch a cheesy movie while she weaves little braids into my hair and calls me Sunshine.

  “Sunny?” Quinn says.

  “Sunny?” Margot says.

  Sunny? my heart says.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Margot says. “I didn’t think—”

  “I’ve got to go.” I stand up and grab my bag. Then I push myself through the sand before I can hear either of them call my name again.

  You shook my heart up in a cup

  and poured it over the bed,

  like you were rolling dice in a game.

  When I left

  Your footsteps didn’t follow me.

  I knew that wasn’t what love was about.

  But I didn’t know a question could

  take away part of my heart

  and leave a friend-shaped hole behind.

  CHAPTER

  10

  I sit on a bench and write my song about Margot on the playing card–sized notebook I’ve thrown in my bag. Then, I’m not sure why I do it, but I tear out the paper and roll it up before sticking it between the wooden slats for someone to find. I’ve never let anyone read my songs, but it felt really amazing sending my donor’s song into the ocean earlier today. It felt… big. Like it mattered. The song about her doesn’t have any names on it, but I sure hope someone finds it and thinks, Wow, this person is a horrible friend. I even smile a little, thinking about it.

  After that, I wander around town for a while. Juniper Island’s downtown area is all cobblestone sidewalks, salty air, and round-globed streetlights. There are a lot of people around, everyone piling into Sea Salts, the frozen yogurt shop, and walking around town with their friends. I think I spot Eliza and Iris inside Sea Salts, laughing at a bright blue table, but I speed past before I can really be sure. I keep my head down so no one spots me, walking and walking until it’s dark, thinking and thinking.

  When I first got sick, Margot spent every weekend night at my house. Every single one. Sometimes, her mom would let her stay on a school night, as long as Margot promised to do all her homework and stuff. Margot pretty much lived with us for half the week. She slept on my floor and kept an extra toothbrush in my bathroom.

  It’s still there, that toothbrush. It’s all crusty and gross, stuffed into the back of a drawer. Even after everything Margot did, I haven’t been able to throw it away. I don’t know why. Maybe, somewhere in the back of my too-trusting brain, I thought she might come around and apologize. That maybe, because we were BFFs for so long, she’d feel it in her soul, how upset I was, and she’d immediately know why and she’d come groveling for forgiveness. Then, being the merciful friend that I am, I’d forgive her and then she’d listen to all my wonderings about kissing, I mean really listen, and she’d hold my hand and say it was okay to wonder about stuff like that and then she’d use that dumb old toothbrush again.

  I walk down the sidewalk that winds along the coastline. It’s almost totally dark now, just a bit of purple twilight still fighting the moon, and I can see the white tower of my lighthouse reaching for the sky. It’s on the south end of the island, away from all the hustle and bustle of the vacationers, which I kind of like. I can still walk anywhere, Juniper Island being about the size of a teacup, but it’s quiet down here on the tip of our little world, perfect for thinking and planning.

  I’m cooking up all sorts of ways to finally destroy Margot’s toothbrush—snapping the blue plastic in half over my knee, setting fire to it—when I realize it’s past eight o’clock and I’m sure Kate’s freaking out that I’m not back yet. The beach movie is always over by now.

  Except, when I get home, Kate isn’t waiting for me on the porch swing. Before I got sick, Kate always waited for me on the porch swing whenever I walked to Margot’s or the beach, so she should definitely be waiting for me now.

  Suddenly, I want to see Kate so bad, my heart hurts. Like, really hurts. I want her to make me some mint tea while she rubs my temples and tells me how much Margot is missing out on because she’s not my best friend anymore.

  I’m climbing the porch steps, really ready to cry now, when Dave comes out the front door with his guitar.

  “Hey, Sunshine.”

  “Hey.” My voice cracks a little and I clear my throat. “Where’s Kate?”

  He frowns at me, worry all over his face. “You okay?”

  I nod and shrug all at the same time. “Is Kate here?”

  “Gee, way to make a guy feel welcome.”

  “Dave, don’t be a dumb-butt.”

  “A dumb-butt?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  He sighs and settles onto the porch swing, patting the spot next to him. I set my bag down and sit.

  “Kate’s with Lena,” Dave says, and my shoulders curl around my neck. “And she asked me to come over so you wouldn’t be here by yourself and worry.”

  I blow out a big breath and try to relax, but my fingers ache from balling them up so tightly.

  “She’s just trying to figure out how to help you both,” Dave says.

  “Why does Lena need help? I’m the abandoned child.”

  Dave chuckles at that. I can always count on him to laugh at super-serious stuff. Not in a mean way, though.

  “Lena needs help,
trust me,” he says.

  “You don’t like her, do you?”

  Dave frowns. “I like her, Sunny. I even love her. We were all friends, you know. Way back when we all lived in Nashville. I opened for one of her concerts.”

  “You opened for her?”

  “Lena Marks was the real deal. Still is, probably.”

  Marks was Lena’s name before she married my dad, and she did all her music stuff as Lena Marks.

  “So what happened?” I ask.

  Dave presses his mouth flat. “She lost her way, that’s all. But she’s trying to find it. I hope.”

  “Well, I’m not lost, so she doesn’t need to come looking for me.”

  “We’re all a little lost, Sunshine.”

  “Ugh, go write a whiny song.”

  He laughs long and hard at that.

  “Speaking of, sing me something whiny,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder. He smells like paper and spruce, which is the kind of wood on the top of his guitar. The back is Brazilian rosewood, which is this really pretty copper-colored wood, and it sounds like angels are plucking the strings whenever Dave plays.

  “What is it with you and my music lately?” he asks. “You used to hate it.”

  “I didn’t hate it. I just—”

  “You hated it.”

  “Okay, I hated it. You’re so whiny, Dave.”

  He laughs again and I like the way his laugh vibrates against my cheek.

  “Why do you like it so much now?” he asks.

  I shrug. “You write about feelings and stuff.”

  “Whiny feelings, apparently.”

  I poke him in the arm. “Yeah, but still. I just… want to get to feel all those feelings, you know?”

  He lays his cheek on top of my head. “You will, Sunny girl.”

  “Will you sing my favorite song?”

  “Again?”

  I lift my head and make my eyes super-big as I look at him.

  “Fine,” he says.

  I smile and lay my head down again. Dave never could resist my wide-eyed-wonder look. He starts finger-picking the strings, the beat slow and easy, the key nice and moody. Then the chorus really gets going, dramatic, but still soft and needy, like all the best love songs.

  I wonder what you’re thinking

  Standing here in the snow

  We both should be sleeping

  But there’s nowhere else to go

  Your kiss, my kiss, our kiss tonight

  The earth is out of orbit

  The dark sky is made of light

  I sigh against Dave’s shoulder. I sigh so loud and so wistful, he stops playing and looks at me.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” he asks.

  “You’d need to fork over a lot more than a penny.”

  Dave laughs and starts the song again. I sing under my breath. Then I sing a little louder because it sounds nice with Dave’s voice and it make me feel better. Emptier, but fuller, all at the same time.

  “Hey,” Dave says, still strumming, “you’re pretty good.”

  “Whatever.”

  “No, you are. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing before.”

  “Well, I hated your music before, remember?”

  He nudges my shoulder. “Sing the chorus with me again.”

  I roll my eyes but do what he asks. My notes don’t match Dave’s, but he seems to like it.

  “That’s a killer harmony, Sunshine.”

  He launches into the chorus again and this time, I sing a little louder. I sing all the way through the end of the song, my heart aching a little from all the feelings. It’s a nice ache, though. The sort that makes me wonder if that’s why people write love songs and poetry. For that ache.

  “Do you ever get scared when people listen to your songs?” I ask.

  He sets his guitar down next to him. “What do you mean?”

  I shrug. “Just… your songs are really personal, right?”

  He nods.

  “And, like, having other people listen to them… isn’t that scary?”

  “Ah.” He sighs and scrubs his hand through his hair. “Yeah. It’s really scary. But it’s also exhilarating, knowing that other people connect to something I wrote, you know? Knowing it means something to them. It sort of connects us all, is the way I look at it. Artists don’t just make art for ourselves. We make it for others too.”

  I nod and snuggle closer to him, thinking about my donor song floating in the sea, about my Margot song flapping in the sea air on that bench. It is scary, thinking about someone else reading my songs, even though no one who found them would know it was me. But it’s just like Dave said too. Exhilarating. My words are out there now. Me.

  “Thanks for singing with me, Sunshine,” Dave says, kissing the top of my head.

  “Don’t expect me to start whining with you all the time now,” I say.

  He cracks up again. I make Dave laugh more than any other person in the world and I pretty much love it. Laughing is cool and all, but making someone else laugh, making them happy for that tiny second, is even cooler. I used to make Margot laugh a lot. Before I got sick and life got all serious and then I went and wondered out loud and then she was laughing at me.

  “Oh, hey, I almost forgot,” Dave says, getting up and stretching his arms like a cat. “Someone came by looking for you.”

  I sit up quick. “What? Who?”

  “That girl from the beach earlier today. Super-cool blue hair.”

  “Quinn?” I stand up so fast, the guitar comes with me, clattering to the ground with a loud twang.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I say, scooping it up carefully.

  “It’s been through worse, trust me,” Dave says, taking it from me.

  “Um, Quinn came by?” I ask. “You’re just now telling me?”

  “Hey, man, we got lost in the music.”

  I roll my eyes. “What did she want?”

  “She left you a note.” He starts patting his pockets and looking around. “She seemed kind of worried. You were at the movie together, right?”

  “Oh, yeah… I left a little early.”

  “If you left early, how come she beat you here?” Dave stops his search and lifts his dark eyebrows so high, they arch above his glasses.

  “Um… well… I was just walking around.”

  “Alone? You know Kate would totally lose it if she knew that.”

  “I know, I know. But I’m fine, see?” I hold out my arms. “I just needed some time. To think. Being back in the land of the living is weird, you know.”

  Dave deflates at that, just like I knew he would. Mention my ticker or my near death, or, hey, my just-for-a-few-minutes death, and he caves like an airless soccer ball.

  “Sorry, Sunshine,” he says, ruffling my hair. “I can’t imagine—”

  “Back to Quinn,” I say, batting his hand away. I need answers and I need them now. “Where’s the note? Was she alone? Was Margot with her?”

  “Just Quinn.” He checks his jacket, which is slung over the back of the swing. Then he looks under the swing. Then—I kid you not—he looks inside his guitar. Like, right in the sound hole. Meanwhile, I’m about to have a real-life heart attack.

  “Dave!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, still hunting on his hands and knees. “She came by right after Lena picked Kate up. It was a lot of things at once.”

  “Wait, Lena was here?”

  “Aha!” Dave says. He stands up, a piece of paper folded into a secure little square in his hands. “It was in my guitar case.”

  “Of course it was.”

  He grins and hands over the note, which I promptly rip open, trying to ignore the weird feeling in my stomach at the thought of Lena being at my house. Quinn’s neat handwriting spilling down the page is a good distraction.

  Hey Sunny, I hope you’re ok. I was really worried when you took off like that. I was going to go after you, but Margot said I should let you cool off and she seems to know you pretty we
ll, but I still felt so bad. I hope it’s ok I came by your lighthouse. I hope you’re not mad at me. Because I think you’re amazing and I still really want to do our First Kiss You-Know-What Adventure. If you’re in, meet me at the docks tomorrow morning at eight. My mom said you could come on the boat with us on her dolphin shoot. And I have a surprise for you. A mega-awesome surprise. Text me if you can come.

  Your BFF,

  Quinn

  She thinks I’m amazing. Me. Sad Sack Sunny. And she wrote her phone number at the bottom of the page, so I can text her whenever I want. I stifle a squeal and smack a kiss on Dave’s cheek before rushing inside. I head straight for my room and try to breathe. My heart thrum-thrum-thrums.

  First, I text Quinn. Of course.

  I can come!

  Then I realize she has no idea who the “I” might be in that text, so I text her again.

  It’s Sunny by the way.

  Then I pace around my room for the longest two minutes of my entire life—seriously, it feels longer than waiting for a heart—before I see those three beautiful, magnificent dots pop up on my message window.

  Yes! So excited.

  Then she texts a heart-eyes emoji and I text her back a boat emoji with a kissy face emoji and just when I’m panicking that she’ll take my kissy face emoji all wrong and think I’m weird, she texts back five pink kiss mark emojis and my heart starts beating again.

  I throw open my closet door and grab a black tank top and a pair of cutoff shorts—as close to New Life Sunny as I’m going to get when a bathing suit must be involved. I fold them on top of my dresser and stare at them, wondering if I need to change now so I’ll be ready to go in the morning. No, that’s silly. But I do need a notebook and some pens to plan our kissing… mission? Quest? I need a name for it. I need some flavored lip gloss and some fruity perfume and maybe a bra.

  Do I need a bra to plan a Kissing Quest? To do the actual kissing?