Instructions for a Broken Heart Read Online Free PDF

traits: Charming, big ego that he covers with aforementioned charm, CHEATER , only half listens when someone talks, selfish, eats too fast, gets what he wants, likes pizza a little too much, average student, great soccer player, decent writer when he tries, demanding, flashes of romantic behavior (can make up for all bad behavior above), dresses like an Aberzombie (Tyler’s contribution)
    Now, watching Sean and Natalie holding hands several yards away, both peering up at that great eye in the ceiling, she wished she had sent the meaner one—the one that called him an ass-kissing mediocre bastard. Her eyes welling up, she sang softly to herself, something Sean used to love about her, her Julie Andrews instinct he’d called it. “Seasons of Love”—all those minutes that made up a year, all those moments.
    A year—almost a year ago, she was kissing Sean in the faint backstage lights of Hamlet , swathed in her Ophelia costume, that incandescent, cascading dress she had thought about borrowing to wear to prom. Now she was sitting in the temple of the gods watching Sean nuzzle Natalie’s ear, rubbing his hand up and down her narrow back. She jerked her eyes away. It would suck to puke in the temple of the gods.
    She searched the room for Tyler. No sign of him. Mr. Campbell stood near the entrance, checking his watch. They were waiting for the other school to arrive with the tour guide. Because Williams Peak had such a small group, only eighteen including Mr. Campbell and Ms. Jackson, they had to partner with another school for the trip to share all the tours, bus trips, and hotels.
    “Don’t worry,” Mr. Campbell had assured them the night before, right before lights out. “We told them we’re a theater program. I’m sure they’ll find us a good match.”
    There was commotion at the entrance. A pack of teenagers stomped their way in, talking loudly, pushing and jostling one another. Jessa counted the swarm, twenty or so students. Two men, probably teachers, were with them, both wearing versions of the kind of shirts you buy in travel magazines, the kind that say they don’t wrinkle.
    “Oh my God,” Jessa heard a girl in huge black sunglasses say. “It’s so filthy.” The girl planted her hands squarely on the hips of her designer jeans. She was very blonde, a polished chrome-bumper of a girl—all gleaming and photo-shoot ready. “Gross.” Sniffing, she checked her pink BlackBerry.
    A shorter redhead in skinny ankle jeans next to her nodded and snapped a picture with an expensive-looking digital camera. “Twenty bucks.” She snapped another picture. The heels of her shoes looked like ice picks.
    “Your dad is such an idiot.” The blonde was now checking the skin beneath her eyes in a sleek, glittery compact. “I can’t believe you get twenty bucks a picture.”
    “I know, right?” The redhead had a laugh like a howler monkey. “But only if it’s ‘culturally relevant’—whatever the hell that means.”
    “It means ‘old.’” The boy who had sidled up suddenly, winding his arm around the blonde, was over six feet, with dark creamy skin. He put his free hand in the low pocket of his baggy pants. “And he’s only doing it to make sure you actually look at some of this junk and not just abuse the discos.” The redhead swatted at him, then stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his mouth.
    “Oh my God, Madison. You’re such a slut!” The blonde snapped the compact shut and tucked it away in a small gold bag.
    Jessa frowned at Tyler as he settled in next to her. “Oh goody,” he said, pulling the hood of his black sweatshirt over his head. “Our traveling partners.”
    Then the frog appeared.
    At first, Jessa thought she was imagining something or that she saw someone’s silly hat, or maybe even some sort of sign for a nearby restaurant. Then, as it closed in on them, bobbing over the heads of tourists, she realized it was a plastic frog on a stick.

#3: dead dog
    “Buongiorno, I miei