Stole My Heart

By Kimberly Karalius...Harvey’s brows twitched as he let out a snuffle. She liked the top of his head, hair an open fire, sticking straight up in coppery tufts.

Emerging from her hiding place in the biology section, Jillian pulled a plastic lion mask out of her pocket and snapped it over the back of her head. Her trapped breath bloomed warmly over her skin as she peered over the railing.

The weight of her elbows on the railing made the old wood creak; she spotted Harvey at one of the tables below, his head splayed at a crooked angle over the back of the gum-speckled chair. His snores cut through the silence.

What a goof, she thought, digging around in her pocket again, fingers tangling in fishing line. He’s supposed to watch the kids. Make sure their brains don’t melt out of their ears before their parents show. But perhaps the heat was getting to them all.

On a sweltering summer afternoon like today, Pineville High’s library was purgatory for students stuck waiting for their parents and the adults assigned to supervise them. The room glistened with sweaty fingerprints and golden pages of untouched books. Students stared glass-eyed at their phones or fanned themselves with folders.

Harvey’s brows twitched as he let out a snuffle. She liked the top of his head, hair an open fire, sticking straight up in coppery tufts. His jaw and neck suffered from prickly heat. The white shirt under his blazer inked with sweat. And, oh—just what she was looking for—the fuzzy red thing stuffed into his shirt pocket was right there for the taking.

Jillian finished pulling her fishing rod out and untangled the knots; like her mask, she had scavenged the rod from a children’s board game and curled a hook on the end of the line, extra pointy. “Come on,” she said, gently casting the line over the side of the railing.

The hook caught the sunlight, a tiny sun descending upon the library. Or maybe a moon. It was silver, after all.

Her tongue poked out of her mouth. Her skirt stuck to the backs of her calves. Inch by inch, the hook descended until it caught the edge of the red thing in Harvey’s pocket. Light-headed with victory, she yanked on the line hard enough to pull the thing free.

Harvey snorted awake, just in time to see the small, red felt heart rise into the air at an alarming speed. “Hey!” He scrambled out of his chair. “That’s my heart!”

Jillian cackled, muffled by the mask. “Not anymore!”

Eyes blazing, Harvey plunged his hand into his satchel and pulled out a mask of his own: a tortoise, painted a dreary green with big, sad eyeholes.

Jillian took off running. The stacks blurred as she ran. The red heart, warm from sitting so close to his real heart, burned in her palm.

Another pair of feet followed her, catching the door she’d flung open as she left the library. The hallways were awash in humming fluorescent lighting, floors mirror-like but scuffed once more in the chase.

Memories rippled past. Their sophomore algebra classroom, where Jillian sat behind Harvey and twirled her pen in his fiery hair until he noticed. There was Harvey’s old locker where he caught her slipping a love note between the slats. The bulletin board where Harvey proclaimed to the world that he wanted Jillian to be his date for prom. The supply closet where Jillian first discovered what Harvey’s mouth tasted like: the answer was spearmint, from incessantly chewing stick after stick when he thought a kiss was in his forecast.

An arm banded around her waist. Jillian yelped and then shrieked with laughter as Harvey pulled her into a tight hug. “Caught you,” he wheezed.

“You’re not getting your heart back,” Jillian said, hugging it to her chest. She leaned back against him, staring out at the end of the hallway. “I can’t believe you were so careless. Just leaving it out on the open like that?”

“What about you?” Harvey let her go, spinning her around to get a look at her chest. But she wasn’t wearing a blouse with pockets.

She grinned at him from behind her the mask. “I don’t have a heart.”

“The hell you don’t,” Harvey muttered. Weaving his fingers in hers, he pulled her to the teacher’s lounge. Swiping his badge, he stepped inside and led her to the couch. “Now,” he said, crouching before her, “where would you be hiding your heart?”

Jillian fiddled with her own badge, running her fingers over the sharp, laminated corners. His heart flopped into her lap. The one in her chest, pumping blood under her heated skin, sped up as he swept his eyes over her.

Harvey unclasped her left shoe and pulled it off her foot. And there, crushed flatly, was her felt heart in bright, bleeding magenta. “Ha!” He tore off his mask, showing off his grin. “You’ve been standing on your heart. It’s like a pancake. That’s no way to take care of it.”

“Will you?” Jillian said breathlessly.

Harvey peered at her through her eyeholes. “Will I what?”

“Take care of it for me?” Jillian slowly peeled her mask off, the string catching on her ponytail.

The corner of Harvey’s mouth twitched. He studied the flattened heart, rubbed it between his hands, and fluffed it out. “Maybe I should. Now that I have it, I don’t feel like giving it back.”

She stroked his cheek and said, “Thieves don’t return what they steal.”

“You’re a lousy thief,” Harvey confessed, inching toward her, his hand resting on her knee.

Jillian nudged her nose against his. “Why? Because you would have given it to me if I asked? Where’s the fun in that?”

Without looking away, Harvey grabbed his felt heart and placed it in her hands. Then he kissed her parted lips.

He must have tasted her surprise, because she felt his answering smile pressed into her skin before pulling her closer.

Jillian tangled her fingers in his hair and held him tight.

The masks, the hearts—it had been a little game she cooked up, something to ease the boredom of teaching for the summer. But from the very first stitch she made in the felt, she already had known the answer. They had each other’s hearts. Lousy thieves, indeed.

🩷🩷🩷

Kimberly Karalius is the author of two YA fantasy romance novels published by Swoon Reads/Macmillan. She lives in Florida and goes to the theme parks every chance she gets. Kimberly also wishes, however futilely, for snow. She finds handmade crafts utterly charming despite never having learned to sew.