The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(14)

My future fantasy life in the Mediterranean flashed before my eyes. Jack swore he wasn’t affiliated with them. Did I believe him?

“The graffiti isn’t connected to her birthday,” Mom said. “It was a coincidence.” Now she was getting mad, and I would appreciate her anger heck of a lot more if I deserved her defense. “My daughter is a talented artist, not a troubled teen.” Oh, Lordy. “She takes AP classes. She works a steady job twenty hours a week.”

“She won an attendance award for not missing a day of school last year,” my brother said from the hallway. “She’s a total nerd.”

Thanks, Heath.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Mom added.

The officer handed me a business card. It said he was in the SFPD Graffiti Abatement Program. “If you think of anything or remember something about one of your classmates, give me a call. Sometimes I’ve been able to mediate a solution between the property owners and the perpetrator. Believe me, I’m a good friend to have.”

I gripped the card as he walked to the door with my mother, but I could hardly feel the paper. My hands and feet had gone numb. The door closed, and after my mom bolted the lock, she turned around and stared at me with her eagle eyes. The silence was choking me. Even Heath was quiet, a sure sign of damnation.

“Please tell me it was a coincidence,” Mom finally said in a low voice.

I tucked my feet between the couch cushions and hugged myself. “All I did was take a photo.”

She nodded, but the doubt wafting off her hung around my head like cheap perfume. And why was I feeling so guilty? I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not like I asked Jack to do it. I didn’t even know his last name, for Pete’s sake.

“Don’t worry, Bex,” Heath said. “If anyone’s going to jail in this family, it’ll still be me.”

I tried to smile, but my heart wasn’t in it.

“Oh no,” Mom mumbled, rushing over to the forgotten cupcakes. Only one of the candles was still lit, and half the frosting had melted and dripped down the black-and-gold bakery paper. She set the tray down on the coffee table. “Hurry up and make a wish.”

I groaned and leaned over the table. As I blew out the flame, I wished I could see Jack one more time … just so I could boot him in the balls.

7

As if a panic-soaked birthday wasn’t a big enough pie in the face, the next morning I got an email from Dr. Sheridan’s assistant. In the coldest, most banal language possible, grad student Denise wrote that I would “unfortunately” not be allowed to draw inside the Willed Body classroom. But she noted that Dr. Sheridan hoped I’d consider taking anatomy classes there in the future.

I was devastated. And because Heath had already left for work—he’s the front-desk guy at a vet office in Cole Valley—I had no one to unload on. I told myself I’d figure something else out. An alternate plan. But at that moment, it felt like the end the world.

It didn’t help my black mood that Mom was checking up on me online, reading everything I hadn’t disabled after the cop left. Not like I had a cache of boozy party pictures or anything that would get me in trouble, but still. Mildly violating.

Because of all this, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind when I clocked in at Alto Market later that afternoon. I’d already deleted the CELEBRATE photo, and in honor of my craptastic day, I posted a new one of my name tag, to the bottom of which I’d added a sticker the backroom workers use for pallets of dented cans: DAMAGED GOODS. Ms. Lopez made me take it off the second I got on the floor, but at least I finally got to talk to someone about the rejection.

“Can’t you try another medical college?” she suggested. Today’s ladybugs dangled from earrings that peeked between strands of her shoulder-length hair when she moved. “After all, a body is a body on the inside, yes?”

“I suppose I could try.”

“What about a veterinarian office?”

Dead cats. Ugh. I’m not squeamish, but drawing someone’s deceased pet was miles different from a formaldehyde-preserved frog in a bag. “Veterinarians don’t dissect for teaching, and they have to follow laws about disposal.” I knew that because of Heath’s job.

Ms. Lopez made a face. “What about your mother? Maybe you should just come clean and talk to her about it. If you explain how important it is, perhaps she’ll change her mind and help you out.”

“No way. She doesn’t like to make waves at work, so she’d never pull any strings for me. And I really don’t want her to. I want to do this on my own.”

When I sighed, she patted me the shoulder. “You’ll think of something.”

We got a mad rush of customers in the early part of the evening, which helped get my mind off things. But sometime after eight, business slowed to a crawl. I decided to occupy myself with cleaning the magazine racks, so I pulled out stacks of Food and Wine and Organic Spa. Then I knelt on the floor and started cleaning.

“You missed a spot,” a low voice said behind me.

My muscles turned to stone. I stood up and slowly turned around to face Jack, who towered a mere foot away from me. He smelled like fabric softener, and his retro-rockabilly hair curled over one eye. He was buttoned up in a short, fitted black peacoat, the wide collar pulled up a little in the back.