The Book of Broken Hearts Read Online Free PDF Page A

head.“I’m at Duchess tomorrow. Think you can wait a whole ’nother day to see me?”
    “No. I mean yes. I mean—for your information, I have plans tomorrow.” I hastily accepted Zoe’s invite and continued scrolling through my calendar as if there were more invitations to consider. Busy, busy! “I’m just trying to get your schedule straight for my father. I’m a partner in this restore, and I intend to manage your work very closely. Got it?”
    Emilio took a step toward me, his smirk widening. “Whatever you say, princesa . But if you’re gonna work very closely with me, you better stop dressing like that.” His eyes trailed down my pink lace cami and white capri pants, his stupid dimples like a warning beacon. “Things are gonna get dirty up in here this summer.”

Chapter 4
    Christina’s big summer plans involved cramming in shifts at Witch’s Brew and checking out the rock climbers who cruised through before their trek up the East Animas cliffs. She’d claimed all that careful observation would enhance her sociology studies at UC Berkeley.
    Zoe and I were supposed to be her research assistants. In quotes.
    So far, it looked like Zoe had been holding up her end of the deal—after I got to the café this morning, it took five minutes to snag her attention from the pack of boys at the counter.
    I’d been trying to put in enough time with the girls to hold my place, to let them know I still wanted in, still thought of them. But things were getting tougher with Papi, and ever since he stopped working, Mom had been taking more shifts at the NICU up in Willow Brush, which meant long hours for all of us. I hadn’t seen my besties in weeks.
    I’d accepted the invite yesterday to prove something to Emilio—what, I didn’t know—but I was glad I had.
    “I missed you guys,” I said. And that was the truth of it.
    “I missed you too!” Zoe said, and Christina nodded, all sun-kissed and adorable in her purple Witch’s Brew apron. There was a little emblem on the front beside her name tag, a black witch riding a broom against an all-white moon.
    “I wanted to call you, but I didn’t know . . .” Christina’s eyes darted over to Papi, parked at his own table in his leather Arañas jacket, recently unearthed. Her smile had faltered when he walked in behind me earlier, but she pulled it together fast, bringing him a free blueberry Scrying Scone and a cup of Dark Moon roast. When he’d asked about her summer plans, she pretended she didn’t hear and scooted back behind the counter to help a caffeine-jonesing rock climber.
    I set my frosty Java Potion and a bag of salted caramels on the table. “What’s up with the Dunes? Did we settle on dates yet?”
    Zoe smiled so big and bright, all ten million of her freckles lit up, and her red curls seemed to bounce in place. “Yay! I told you she wouldn’t bail!”
    She’d meant it for Christina, but our coffee witch was busy watching Papi, holding her breath like he might wig out again.
    Not that I blamed her. Last time she’d seen Papi, he was accusing her of trying to poison him at the BHS family picnic.
    A turkey sandwich. That’s how it all started.
    One of the volunteers had mislabeled it as roast beef, and Christina gladly passed it to Papi as such.
    That little error changed everything.
    The Turkey Sandwich Incident (TSI), Mom and I later called it. Everyone was there to see it. All the graduating seniors. Parents. Siblings. Teachers. The principal.
    And here go my friends: Shock. Confusion. Fear. And then the worst one: pity. I hadn’t even told them about the diagnosis yet—Mom wanted to keep it in the family as long as possible—and in the span of five minutes, all the things that made me me got erased. I’d gone from Jude Hernandez, best friend, play person, bookworm, bad drawer, salty-snack connoisseur, to Jude Hernandez, Daughter of Crazy Pants.
    He wasn’t crazy. He had Alzheimer’s. And he didn’t like turkey. Really didn’t like