Heart-Shaped Box (Claire Montrose Series) Read Online Free
Author: April Henry
told him there wasn’t any Santa Claus. When he was little, he had this terrible stutter, and he couldn’t even get any words out, he was so shocked. So instead he ran away, crying. His mom called me up on the phone after we both got home from school, screaming that I was a liar to have told her son that.”
“ He must not have liked you.”
“ Are you kidding? He always had a huge crush on me. He even asked me out on my first boy-girl date.” Claire smiled at the memory, the awkwardness faded by the intervening years. “I don’t know why I said yes. Ever since third grade he had been trying to prove that he liked me by pushing me down on the playground or stealing my lunch. Once when we were playing dodge ball he beaned me so hard that he gave me a bloody nose and I had to go home.”
Charlie gave her a sympathetic smile. “What was your date like?”
“Well, we were both fifteen, which meant he couldn’t drive. He had his mother pick me up and then we went over to his house and listened to records in the den. Every few minutes his mom came in with another tray of snacks. I still remember the look on her face, like she thought she was going to catch us having sex. The next week Tyler told everyone at school I was his girlfriend, and I had to go around taking it back.”
“ Was he angry?”
“ That was the sad thing. He wasn’t.” Claire rifled through the pages until she found the photo she wanted. “This was my first real boyfriend. Jim Prentiss.” She pointed to a boy with wavy light brown hair who was intently potting a plant in a greenhouse. He wore a puka shell necklace, flared jeans so tight you could see the space between his thighs, a belt with a buckle in the shape of a leaf of pot, and what looked like a hand-crocheted shirt. Her memory supplied the color for his eyes: the green of cat’s eye marbles. “We worked together at Pietro’s Pizza. I was head cashier and he was head cook. Sixteen years old and proud I was making twenty cents more than minimum wage. We used to stay in the restaurant after we finished closing it up.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow but said nothing, having guessed what two teenagers would do in a building late at night with no adults present. Jean had never talked to Claire about birth control, but Claire had only to look in the mirror or at her sister to know the consequences of unprotected sex. The same week Jim kissed her in the cooler Claire had gone to Planned Parenthood for the pill. She remembered the way Jim used to touch her, his clear experience tempered with a genuine affection. Afterward, they would pass a cigarette back and forth. Claire had felt sophisticated, conversing naked with a boy. When he decided he wanted to see someone else, Jim told Claire straightforwardly and then held her while she cried. It wasn’t in Jim to lie, or to be with one girl for more than a few months. Whenever he had free time, he practiced guitar with his older brother in their garage. They had played for a few school assemblies, sweaty and happy, their hair hanging in their eyes, while the girls screamed out their names.
“ I heard he got some girl pregnant right before we graduated, and their parents made them get married just before she had the baby. I can’t imagine he stayed married long, though.” She realized what was unusual about the picture of Jim in a greenhouse. He had basically been a hood, as the bad kids were called back then. Claire flipped back through the pages. No one had taken pictures of the hoods, of the nerds, of the shy people. Or maybe they did, but their pictures certainly didn’t make it into the annual.
Claire was about to close the yearbook when her gaze lit on the photo of Logan West. He had a shock of bright red hair, pale skin, and square-framed glasses that had not yet moved from geekiness to Elvis Costello cool. “There’s another kid I’ve known since kindergarten. His family lived down the block. The last time I saw him was about a
“ He must not have liked you.”
“ Are you kidding? He always had a huge crush on me. He even asked me out on my first boy-girl date.” Claire smiled at the memory, the awkwardness faded by the intervening years. “I don’t know why I said yes. Ever since third grade he had been trying to prove that he liked me by pushing me down on the playground or stealing my lunch. Once when we were playing dodge ball he beaned me so hard that he gave me a bloody nose and I had to go home.”
Charlie gave her a sympathetic smile. “What was your date like?”
“Well, we were both fifteen, which meant he couldn’t drive. He had his mother pick me up and then we went over to his house and listened to records in the den. Every few minutes his mom came in with another tray of snacks. I still remember the look on her face, like she thought she was going to catch us having sex. The next week Tyler told everyone at school I was his girlfriend, and I had to go around taking it back.”
“ Was he angry?”
“ That was the sad thing. He wasn’t.” Claire rifled through the pages until she found the photo she wanted. “This was my first real boyfriend. Jim Prentiss.” She pointed to a boy with wavy light brown hair who was intently potting a plant in a greenhouse. He wore a puka shell necklace, flared jeans so tight you could see the space between his thighs, a belt with a buckle in the shape of a leaf of pot, and what looked like a hand-crocheted shirt. Her memory supplied the color for his eyes: the green of cat’s eye marbles. “We worked together at Pietro’s Pizza. I was head cashier and he was head cook. Sixteen years old and proud I was making twenty cents more than minimum wage. We used to stay in the restaurant after we finished closing it up.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow but said nothing, having guessed what two teenagers would do in a building late at night with no adults present. Jean had never talked to Claire about birth control, but Claire had only to look in the mirror or at her sister to know the consequences of unprotected sex. The same week Jim kissed her in the cooler Claire had gone to Planned Parenthood for the pill. She remembered the way Jim used to touch her, his clear experience tempered with a genuine affection. Afterward, they would pass a cigarette back and forth. Claire had felt sophisticated, conversing naked with a boy. When he decided he wanted to see someone else, Jim told Claire straightforwardly and then held her while she cried. It wasn’t in Jim to lie, or to be with one girl for more than a few months. Whenever he had free time, he practiced guitar with his older brother in their garage. They had played for a few school assemblies, sweaty and happy, their hair hanging in their eyes, while the girls screamed out their names.
“ I heard he got some girl pregnant right before we graduated, and their parents made them get married just before she had the baby. I can’t imagine he stayed married long, though.” She realized what was unusual about the picture of Jim in a greenhouse. He had basically been a hood, as the bad kids were called back then. Claire flipped back through the pages. No one had taken pictures of the hoods, of the nerds, of the shy people. Or maybe they did, but their pictures certainly didn’t make it into the annual.
Claire was about to close the yearbook when her gaze lit on the photo of Logan West. He had a shock of bright red hair, pale skin, and square-framed glasses that had not yet moved from geekiness to Elvis Costello cool. “There’s another kid I’ve known since kindergarten. His family lived down the block. The last time I saw him was about a
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