Conversation Hearts

Amy and I were in sixth grade, and we sat together in a grove of trees on the edge of the playground during recess. It was Valentine’s Day, and my friend Amy had a small box of conversation hearts that had gone into her personal decorated box in the classroom, the only Valentine she got without a name signed. Amy wore glasses and her mother always seemed just a little less than pleased with her. I always thought she and I were grapes in a bunch, because I felt just the same way. Even so, I didn’t believe her when she told me what the conversation hearts supposedly said.

This one says, “black hearted,” Amy said. “No, it doesn’t,” I scoffed. “What does that mean, anyway?”

“It means you’re a bad person,” said Amy. And this one says, “green with envy.”

“So, whoever sent it doesn’t like you much?” I asked, frowning.

Amy nodded. “I think it’s Pete.”

Pete was a tall, blonde boy who was exceptionally old for a sixth grader, having perhaps been held back one time. He had turned 13 two days ago, and Amy, without thinking, had exclaimed out loud on his birthday that she had never in her life heard of a sixth grader that old.

“No more feeling blue,” I said, pulling her up from where she was sitting on a tree root. “He’s too young to have a broken heart anyway.”

I leaned over, and in the pink words of the hearts, I saw none of the words she had said were there.

“I just made it up,” she said, blushing. “I’ll apologize anyway.”

*271 words