Comics Will Break Your Heart Page 3

  Weldon walked out of the bathroom, into the guest bedroom. His suitcase was shoved in a corner, half open, his clothes strewn around it. Tilted against the wall was the painting he’d bought from that girl in the sad little geek store in Sandford’s meager downtown. The painting was still wrapped in paper and leaning against the guest bed, where he’d left it the night before.

  The girl’s face came to him: skeptical brown eyes, freckles dotting her cheeks, and a halo of dark curly hair that spiraled out from her head like her thoughts were exploding outward. He remembered her skinny elbow sticking out of the sleeve of her too-large work shirt as she handed him the change for the painting. He also remembered the way she’d bolted into the parking lot, garden hose held in front of her like she was an action hero in a movie, mowing down the boys he’d stolen that car from. Her hand on his arm, steadying him as he wobbled after the fight. The look of strange animosity creeping across her face as she stepped away from him.

  “Weldon! Breakfast!” his aunt yelled from downstairs.

  “Coming!” he yelled back.

  He hadn’t brought many clothes. The trip had been hastily arranged—not so much a “trip,” more a “dumping.” Two weeks ago, his dad had decided that having Weldon in Los Angeles the summer before the TomorrowMen movie came out was a risk he wasn’t willing to take, especially after Weldon was suspended from school for stealing the groundskeeper’s truck and driving it through the football field. The punishment seemed like an overreaction to Weldon. He hadn’t even gotten off the school campus.

  I’ve done worse things that didn’t get me shipped off to the ass-end of Canada, Weldon thought, pulling a T-shirt over his head. It was just a suspension.

  But this summer was different. This was the summer the hype machine for the TomorrowMen movie kicked into gear. This was the summer the movie trailer premiered at San Diego Comic-Con, to the orgasmic excitement of every geek with a keyboard.

  “I, David Warrick, overlord of the TomorrowMen comic empire, have my entire future riding on this film,” muttered Weldon. “If it makes north of five hundred million domestically, I will finally have legitimacy. No more scraping by with comic books and animated TV shows. This movie hits big, and I’ll be the one talked about in hushed tones at every industry party.”

  Weldon pulled a green T-shirt from his small pile of clothes, grimacing. His father had put everything into the movie—all of Warrick Studios’ resources, millions in financing. David Warrick was finally going to realize his dream of bringing his father’s greatest comic book creations, the superheroic Skybound and Skylark, to life.

  So it had been decided: Weldon would be shipped off to his father’s boyhood town, to live with his aunt and uncle. He would finish off the school year online, since it was too late to look into transferring to a school in Sandford. And if Weldon ever wanted to return to Los Angeles, ever wanted to look upon the hallowed halls of Warrick Studios and take a selfie with the life-sized statue of Skybound outside the studio’s main building, if he ever wanted to sleep in his own bed again, he would be good for the summer. He wouldn’t steal cars. He wouldn’t get into fights. He would write passable essays on his laptop and email them to his internet teacher on time. He would be good. And then maybe David Warrick would let him come home.

  “So, thanks, Grampa Warrick,” Weldon muttered, trotting downstairs. “You just had to create the comic that got me banished to the far corner of this Canadian wasteland.”

  The kitchen smelled good.

  “Hi,” Weldon said, walking over to the pink table tucked neatly in a corner of the kitchen. Wide bay windows looked out over a neatly tended front lawn. Weldon’s aunt and uncle had no children, so he guessed the lawn was kind of like their kid. He figured they’d gotten a better deal than his parents: lawns didn’t steal cars or get suspended from school.

  “Every time I look at that eye of yours, I cringe,” said Aunt Kay, reaching up to touch his cheek. He smiled at her. She’d always been soft on him. “Are you sure you don’t want a nice cold steak for it? Bag of frozen peas? Aspirin? Anything?”

  “It’s good,” Weldon said. “Doesn’t hurt much.”

  “This town is changing for the worse,” said Uncle Alex, sitting at the kitchen table. “When your father and I were kids here, the crime rate was minuscule. A chief of police and a deputy—that was all this town needed. Now, there’s too much nonsense.”

  Weldon nodded solemnly, giving his uncle as much eye contact as he could manage, to show how seriously he was taking the lecture. His uncle continued.

  “Nowadays a young man can be walking down the street and just be attacked. It’s appalling. I really wish you’d been able to identify who did it, so those kids could be brought to justice. But you did the best you could under the circumstances.”

  Alex Warrick didn’t look much like his brother, David. Weldon had seen photos of them together as teenagers, both of them trim and tan, arms looped around each other’s shoulders. David Warrick had kept the tan and the trimness, but between him and Alex, Alex looked younger. David Warrick looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years, the stress of transforming Warrick Studios from mere comic publisher to a movie industry titan pushing him to the breaking point.

  Aunt Kay piled eggs and bacon on Weldon’s plate.

  “We need to talk about the summer,” she said. “Your father was very concerned we keep you busy, so I’ve been looking into various programs you can join.”

  Are they going to ship me off to summer camp? thought Weldon, dismayed. I really like showering in a normal bathroom. I like drinking things that don’t exclusively come in toxic shades of orange.

  “Your father said you like to run,” his aunt continued. “I know there’s a cross-country running club at that exercise store downtown, the one that sells those famous yoga pants. It’s called the Running Realm, I think.”

  Relief washed over Weldon. He dug his fork into the small mountain of scrambled eggs in front of him and beamed at his aunt.

  “That sounds fantastic, Aunt Kay.”

  “Sandford is a good place to live,” his aunt said, and Weldon saw real concern on her face. He was amused she’d taken his alleged assault so personally. “It’s not normally filled with awful people. I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never seen or experienced anything like what happened to you yesterday. Please don’t judge Sandford by what happened. I really want you to have a good summer.”

  “I do too,” Weldon said. He liked his aunt and uncle, but they had been a little too eager to accept his made-up story about the fight yesterday. David Warrick would’ve pried the truth out of Weldon using the vowels in his East Coast accent. Someday I’ll tell my dad something and he’ll actually believe me, Weldon thought, spooning eggs into his mouth. Maybe it’ll be the truth, maybe it’ll be something I made up, but I’ll tell him and he’ll believe me.

  “Are you all right, dear?” his aunt said. Weldon looked up at her, aware he hadn’t been paying attention. “You had the oddest look on your face.”

  Weldon beamed his smile at her.

  “I’m great, Aunt Kay.”

  After his aunt and uncle left for work, Weldon laced up his running shoes and walked down their long driveway, heading downtown. The asphalt was wet, and water splashed over his shoes as he stretched into a loping run. The air still smelled like spring here. Los Angeles had been hot and hazy when he’d left, eternally summer. Bring jackets, his aunt had said when it was decided he would move in with them for the summer. Jackets, jeans, and rain boots. Not sure what the weather’s like in Los Angeles, but here we get four seasons, three of them winter.

  Weldon lifted his head and sucked in a breath. His ribs throbbed, and it occurred to him that going for a run the day after he’d been pounded into applesauce was probably a stupid idea. He took another breath and kept going.

  He always ran too fast at the beginning. He’d gotten better at it recently, learning to pace himself for longer distances, but the
beginning of a run felt so good. Nervous energy bubbled in his chest, spurring him to run faster. He allowed himself to stretch out, feeling the ground churn under his feet.

  There were no sidewalks in his aunt and uncle’s part of town, just the road and large houses alongside it. The rich part of town, he thought. Funny how similar the rich part of any town looked: carefully groomed lawns, tidy gardens, sleek cars with less than ten thousand miles on the odometer. Weldon eyed a mint-green BMW as he jogged past, wondering if it was unlocked.

  I’m going to be good this summer, he reminded himself. Aunt Kay and Uncle Alex don’t need that damage. And I want to go back to LA. The only reason I took that Hyundai is because the driver was an idiot and left the keys in it. That won’t happen again.

  Weldon followed the road as it curved away from the houses. In the distance was the bridge into downtown Sandford. He jogged across the bridge, looking down at the wide, slowly moving river below. There was some kind of history to the river, something to do with the fur trade hundreds of years ago, beaver-hat-wearing trappers paddling down it in bark canoes. Weldon couldn’t remember the exact story. Canada’s history was completely mysterious to him. Did they fight any wars for their independence? Were they independent? They had the queen on their money, so maybe not. Weldon jogged off the bridge and onto a sidewalk, mentally making a note to look up Canadian history on Wikipedia.

  Weldon turned onto a street, missing a step as he recognized where he was. It was the only street in Sandford that had much of anything: a Starbucks, a couple of tourist-trap shops, and the exercise store his aunt had mentioned. There were a few shabbier local businesses clinging to the street too. Weldon wondered how Sandford locals felt about their gentrifying downtown: Did they like the Starbucks, or did they prefer whatever it had replaced, some broken-down diner that only served black coffee for a dollar a cup?

  Down the street, he saw the run-down geek store, the one he’d stopped into yesterday. He always liked seeing TomorrowMen merchandise in the wild, and the large poster of Skybound in the store window had attracted his attention as he drove the stolen Hyundai through town. Weldon remembered the painting he’d bought, wrapped carefully in brown paper by that girl. She’d looked a little sad when she’d sold it to him.

  I wonder why she didn’t tell the cops I stole that car, Weldon thought. He remembered the way the girl had stepped away from him as he’d been interviewed by the police. She hadn’t seemed bothered by his confession that he’d stolen the Hyundai, but something had changed in the minutes that followed, something he didn’t understand.

  Weldon turned and walked across the street and into the Running Realm. A girl behind the counter, her body burned lean from long-distance running, looked up when he entered. He smiled at her, hoping the smile would make up for his eye. From the approving way she smirked back at him, her eyes sliding down his body just a bit, the smile was working.

  “Hi,” he said. “I heard you had a cross-country club.”

  “You heard right,” said the girl. Her eyes were slightly hooded. Weldon wasn’t sure if that made her look predatory or sleepy, but either way, he liked it. “We run twice a week, mostly in the park down the road. It has lots of trails and you get to run beside the river. We do a 5K and a 10K. Sound like something you’re up for?”

  “Most definitely,” Weldon said, crossing his arms and leaning on the counter. The girl with the hooded eyes smiled and pushed a clipboard toward him.

  “Sign up here. My name’s Ellie, by the way.”

  Weldon smiled back.

  “I’m Weldon Warrick. Very nice to meet you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  From the rocky beach beside Sandford’s only lake, Mir and Raleigh watched as their friend Evan cannonballed into the water, sending up a massive splash. He bobbed to the surface, howling, “IT’S COLD!!!”

  “His body hair will prevent him from freezing,” Raleigh said. Mir nodded.

  “Boys have an extra layer of insulation,” Mir said. “It’s not fat, it’s like an extra layer of boy. It’s why I’m always cold and Evan never is. He’s got an extra layer of boyness.”

  In the lake, Evan flailed melodramatically, wailing about the water’s temperature.

  “He seems kinda cold now,” Raleigh said.

  “He’s faking for attention,” Mir said, and Raleigh laughed.

  The lake was a small horseshoe-shaped body of water lined with evergreen trees, its southeast edge giving way to a tiny, sandy beach where Mir and Raleigh were sitting. A rickety dock extended out from the beach. Just moments ago, Evan had pounded down the length of the dock and launched himself into the water.

  “I’m glad you came out today,” Raleigh said.

  “Yeah, I’m glad too. It’s been so long since we hung out.”

  “You’re so busy,” said Raleigh. “You have, like, all the jobs.”

  “Just the one,” said Mir.

  “Well, you work a lot of hours at the one job. And you have all the homework since you’re in all the advanced classes. And then you help your parents grow all the things in your garden on the weekend. My mom says thanks for the squash, by the way. I’m not going to say thanks, because now I have to eat squash for dinner all next week.”

  Mir giggled. Raleigh glanced over at Mir and they grinned at each other.

  “It’s the price of being friends with me: you risk my parents gifting you a metric ton of vegetables,” said Mir.

  “Why doesn’t pizza grow on trees? I would love a metric ton of pizza.”

  “Pizza tree,” Mir said. “I bet my mom can grow that. She’s a plant wizard.”

  “Tell her to grow a money tree too,” Raleigh said. “Then you won’t have to work and can just be lazy your entire life. And also buy your awesome friend Raleigh an iPad.”

  Evan emerged from the lake like a triumphant Wookiee, water streaming from his swim trunks. He struck a heroic pose on the tiny beach, fists on his hips, head thrown back. Water dripped from his hair and beard. I swear he’s had that beard since sixth grade, Miriam thought.

  “Ladies!” said Evan, waggling an eyebrow at Mir and Raleigh. “Tremble at the sight of the wild Nova Scotian man in his native element! Behold my pristine majesty!”

  Evan flexed his arms mightily. What skin wasn’t covered with hair blazed white in the sun. Mir and Raleigh burst out laughing. In sixth grade, Raleigh and Mir had gotten over their childhood suspicion of boys and agreed they’d be his friend for one simple reason: Evan was the best.

  Raleigh held her hands over her eyes, blocking Evan from view.

  “Too much sexy, Evan,” she laughed. “I admit to being weak in the knees. You win.”

  Mir watched her two friends, smiling. For as long as Mir could remember, Raleigh had been beside her, her stride matching Mir’s as they went out in search of adventure. They had been locked in friendship, needing only each other until they discovered Evan.

  “Am I too late for the Evan show?” said Jamie, Raleigh’s boyfriend. He was walking around the bend in the trail that led to the tiny beach, backpack slung over one shoulder. Raleigh squealed when she saw him, leaping to her feet to fling her freckled arms around his neck. Encouraged, Evan also squealed and lumbered toward Jamie, intent on wrapping him in a wet hug.

  “Hey, Mir,” said Jamie, managing to kiss Raleigh hello and fend off Evan’s attempt to hug him. “It’s been, like, years since I saw you.”

  “Years and years,” Mir said, smiling, ignoring the tiny twist of guilt in her gut. If Jamie had noticed her absence, then it really had been ages since she’d seen her friends. Jamie and Mir’s friendship was one of proximity: she knew he was friends with her only because she was his girlfriend’s best friend. Jamie and Raleigh had been together for a year, and Mir was still trying to adjust to his presence. She always felt a little uneasy when he was around. Jamie had sharp edges, and sometimes Mir seemed to catch on them.

  Jamie linked hands with Raleigh, and the two of them sat on the sand next to Mir
iam. Evan sat on Mir’s other side, still glistening from the lake water.

  “It’s too cold for swimming, Evan,” said Jamie. “You’ll freeze your tiny brain.”

  “Brains are like fleshy computers,” Evan said. “And computers work best in a cold environment. Therefore, my brain will be improved by the coldness of the water.”

  “If you talked smart like that to the teachers at school they’d stop trying to put you in the special class,” Jamie said.

  Evan grinned and looked out over the lake, resting his forearms on his knees. He always deflected Jamie’s needling that way: get in, make a quick joke, then smile and retreat. And Jamie would let him be, which from Jamie was a sign of friendship.

  “Why aren’t you working, Mir? It’s Wednesday. You always work on Wednesday,” Jamie said. Raleigh had her arm draped over him, comfortable and adorable.

  “Berg gave me the afternoon off,” Mir said. Berg had actually given her the whole week off, stopping her as she stepped into the maintenance closet to change into her work uniform. He had seemed distracted, like something was bothering him but he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud what it was.

  “Do you want—um…” Berg had trailed off. Mir waited, one hand on the closet doorknob, the other clutching her threadbare Emporium of Wonders T-shirt.

  “It’s nice out today,” Berg continued. “I don’t think the store will be busy. Why don’t you take the afternoon off? You can go do something with your friends. Enjoy the spring weather.”

  Lately the Emporium of Wonders had been quiet, even for the lull before the beginning of tourism season. All week, only a handful of customers had wandered into the store, and most hadn’t bought anything.

  “Is everything okay?” Mir asked Berg. There was something upsetting in the way he wouldn’t quite look at her.

  “Everything will be fine,” Berg said. He smiled. “Things are just slow now, and there’s no point in you coming in. We have a new shipment of TomorrowMen merchandise coming in next week, so business should pick up then. That stuff always flies off the shelves.” And he had continued to smile in a way that Miriam didn’t like.