I sigh in relief and carefully turn over the pages on my lap. A combination of dread, guilt, and excitement rushes through me. I’ve always stayed out of this end of the business, not only to protect my clients’ privacy but also because I have no desire to meddle in their love lives. Is this how Lexi felt when she was the Boyfriend Whisperer? Did her stomach knot up when she staked out her targets?
I take a deep breath and read through Ty’s survey answers. Most are exactly what I would expect. I know he’s ambitious, thinks zombies are greater than vampires, and loves sports and Italian food. But some of his answers surprise me. Would he really pick fame over true love? And is it true he thinks it’s more important to be right than to be fair?
I go through and highlight the responses that seem most useful—the ones I can capitalize on for Mission Win Back Ty. I know what I’m doing is wrong in so many ways, but at the end of the day, gathering this intel on him is not that different from what Lexi did for me last year. It worked then, and it could work now. It has to.
“I want you to have fun with this,” Mr. Dunham says in English class the next day. “Be creative.”
I steal a glance at Ty, already calculating how I can make sure we end up as partners. Our teacher wants us to recreate scenes from classic literature as modern-day retellings. It’s the perfect opportunity for the two of us to spend some quality time together.
Mr. Dunham takes off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the bottom of his sweater. “I had planned to let you choose your own scenes and partners, but I think it’ll be easier if I assign them,” he says.
What? No. I scan the room and quickly do the math. I have a 4.2 percent chance of being paired with Ty. The odds are definitely not in my favor. Then I spot Abi Eisenberg with her hand raised.
“Mr. Dunham?”
“Yes, Abigail?”
“What if we already know what we want to do?”
Yay, Abi.
Mr. Dunham perches his glasses at the tip of his nose and peers over them. “What did you have in mind?”
Abi grins. “Roland and I would like to do a scene from Cyrano.”
That elicits a round of laughter. Abi was Lexi’s assistant last year at Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises. It’s a perfect choice for her and her boyfriend.
Mr. Dunham nods and makes a note on his tablet. “That’s fine. Anyone else?”
I take a deep breath and raise my hand.
“Alicea?”
I glance at Ty, who has his phone on his lap and appears to be surreptitiously texting someone. I bite my lip. “I was thinking maybe Romeo and Juliet? The balcony scene?”
Mr. Dunham nods. “Lots of potential there. Do you already have a partner lined up?”
I turn again toward Ty. He looks up from his phone, but I can tell by his expression he hasn’t heard a word of the conversation. Still, I summon up my courage and ask, “What do you think, Ty? Romeo and Juliet. You in?”
He turns to his right and his left, searching the faces of our classmates for an answer, a lifeline, or a clue as to what’s happening. Everyone is watching him expectantly, and a few kids are snickering.
“Um. No?”
The entire class bursts out laughing.
“Ouch.”
“Shut down.”
“Awkward.”
I turn to face the front of the room, training my eyes on the whiteboard. My face is on fire, and the air has become thick and heavy.
Mr. Dunham quiets the room. “Enough, enough. Alicea, do you want to ask someone else, or should I assign a Romeo?”
I don’t trust my voice, so I simply shake my head.
“Does that mean, no, you don’t want to ask someone else, or no, you don’t want me to—”
“I’ll do it.” A voice from the back of the room pipes up.
Oh. My. Gosh. The class falls silent, and everyone turns to stare. Everyone but me. My eyes never leave the board.
“Darius?” Mr. Dunham sounds as shocked as I am. Though not as mortified.
“Yeah. I’ll be Alicea’s Romeo.”
My classmates’ laughter has been replaced with stunned gasps and murmurs. If our teachers gave out participation trophies, Darius wouldn’t even be in the running. What possessed him to speak up? Of course, I know. It’s Libby’s fault.
“Very well.” Mr. Dunham points his stylus at me. “Alicea, does that work for you?”
I nod. “Sure.” It comes out part whisper, part croak.
The rest of the class slips by in a blur as everyone gets paired up for scenes. Mr. Dunham tells us we have three weeks to prepare our retelling, and he wants us to perform it in front of the class. Awesome. When the bell rings, I dash out the door, but Ty calls after me.
“Alicea.”
I pretend not to hear him.
“Alicea, hold up.”
I stop just outside the door and lean against the wall, my eyes on the ceiling to stave off the tears lurking just below the surface.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what was going on. You shouldn’t have sprung that on me.”
“Really?” I take a chance and meet his gaze. “If you had known, would you have … never mind. It doesn’t matter.” I hate the desperate edge in my voice, and I hate how much it does matter. I hate how the simple act of standing here next to him sends my heart racing. I want to reach out, grab his hand, and saunter down the hall with him like last year. I want to once again be the girl lucky enough to date Ty Walker.
“Wherefore art thou?” Mickey Adams croons with a mocking falsetto as he exits the room and passes us, sending two girls behind him into a fit of giggles. Ty punches Mickey’s arm, but he’s laughing, too.
I straighten and turn to go. “It’s no biggie. In fact, I’m sure Darius will do a great job and we’ll ace the project. That was my main concern.” I force a smile, offer what I hope is a breezy wave, and take off down the hallway.
Darius Groves. My Romeo. Can someone please just poison me now?
The grays, blacks, and purples slam together to form a cloud that matches my mood. Below the painting, a plaque reveals its title and price: Scattered Seashells – $250. The scattered part I can see. The seashells, not so much. And 250 dollars? Um. No. I wouldn’t pay twenty-five cents for it.
Tonight I am neither the Boyfriend Whisperer, nor the smartest kid in my programming class, nor the girl who can’t seem to get it together at dance. Tonight I am merely a body.
My dad manages the Loudoun Art Gallery, and my mom teaches classes here. The gallery sits two floors above Ms. DuBois’s studio, in the county arts center. Each month, Mom holds an exhibition for her students. Unless we have a good excuse, Andrew and I are expected to show up—to be warm bodies and to feign interest in the artwork. At least, I feign interest. Andrew actually inherited my parents’ love of art, and their talent for it as well.
“‘Scattered Seashells.’ Very cool.” Andrew saunters up to me holding a heaping plate of cheese and crackers. “Reminds me of de Kooning.”
I swipe a slice of cheddar, roll my eyes, and mutter, “Reminds me of something I drew when I was five.”
“There you are!” My mother barrels down the hallway, arms open for a hug. “Thank you for coming.” She lowers her voice. “We really needed you two tonight. Must be the rain keeping people away, but these folks have worked so hard. I hope we can make a few sales.”
She plants a kiss on each of our foreheads before turning and whirling away to greet more guests.
I turn back toward the painting. “They’ve worked so hard? How hard can it be to slap a bunch of random splotches on a canvas?”
Andrew snorts and launches into a lecture on contrasts and perspective and a bunch of pretentious art terms I don’t understand and have zilcho interest in. I gaze at the painting and pretend to listen while helping myself to more cheese and plotting my next move with Ty.
LIBBY Question #33: Which of the following is your favorite holiday?
A. Christmas
B. July 4
C. Halloween
D. Thanksgiving
According to his survey, Ty loves Halloween best, which is perfect, as the holiday happens to be two weeks away. Everyone knows he loves all things Star Wars, so a Princess Leia costume might be just the thing to catch his attention. Besides, I’ve always wanted to do that bun thing with my—
“Hey, Alicea! Can we talk?”
I turn to find Aiden Jackson once again walking toward me. Oh, jeez. What’s he doing here?
“I’m, uh, kind of busy,” I say.
His gaze falls on the painting. “Is that a de Kooning?” he asks my brother.
What the—? I’ve never even heard the word “Dekooning” before. Or is it two words? “No, it’s a nobody,” I say. “Some student.”
“Well, I’m somebody, though certainly not de Kooning.” A grandmotherly woman appears beside us. “But I’ll take that as a huge compliment.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t … I only meant … ”
She laughs. “No need to apologize. I know what you meant.” She raises her eyebrows at me as though she understands exactly what I think of her painting before turning toward the boys. “Do you think two-fifty is too much to ask? It seems pricey. Then again, did you hear what the latest de Kooning went for at auction?” She glances around, and when none of us answers, she practically shouts, “Sixty-six million! Broke a record.”
I choke on a cracker. Sixty-six million? Dollars? For something that looks like a kindergarten project gone awry. What is wrong with people? As the woman begins discussing her technique, I try to slip away and leave the three de Loonies to their art talk. Unfortunately, Aiden notices and chases after me. “Yo. Hold up.”
I sigh and wait for him. “The answer is still no. I can’t help you.”
My mother waves to me from across the room, a huge grin on her face. At least I might score some points for bringing in another body.
“Please?” Aiden grabs my arm. “I’m begging you.”
Something about the desperation in his voice tugs at me. I motion for him to follow me over to the drinks table. All that cheese has made me thirsty, and I pour us each a glass of punch. “Helping people hook up is not part of the deal, you know. I make the match. That’s it. I honestly don’t know if I can—”
“You can. I’m sure you can. And if you do, I’ll owe you. I’ll help you with … whatever you want.”
I sip at my soda and consider this. Aiden and Ty aren’t great friends, but they do hang with the same soccer crowd. “What about Halloween?” I ask.
“What about it?”
“Do you know of any parties? Any that your teammates might be going to?”
Aiden nods. “Yeah, sure. Baldwin’s having something next Saturday.”
I smile. Jack Baldwin and Ty hang out a lot. He’ll definitely be there. “Can you get me an invite?”
“Are you offering to help with my match?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Cool. Then I’ll get you an invite.”
“Awesome. So, who is it? Who’s your match?”
Aiden’s shoulders sag ever so slightly. “It’s Maggie.”
“Maggs?”
“Maggs.”
“Oh, my.” You poor, poor boy.
Maggs’s full name is Sugar Magnolia Blossoms Blooming Maloney. Her parents were total hippies when they had her, though now they’re as straight and narrow as two people can get.
Unfortunately for them, Maggs takes after their younger selves. A free spirit who answers to no one and constantly flakes out, Maggs frankly would drive me up a wall, except that she also is one of the kindest, sweetest human beings I’ve ever known.
Well, except when it comes to guys.
It’s not that she’s mean to them. She’s not. In fact, she’s pure Sugar, and she combines that sweetness with a c’est la vie attitude that drives boys crazy and keeps them coming back for more. Until she very sweetly breaks their hearts. Which she does. Every. Single. Time.
“I’m in way over my head.” I pick up a duster and fluff its feathers against my palm. Lexi Malloy, Abi Eisenberg, and I are standing in the F Hall janitor’s closet. The two of them used to meet here in secret back when Lexi was the Boyfriend Whisperer and Abi was her assistant. There’s no reason for us to hide now, since my identity isn’t a secret, but when I texted and asked to see them, Lexi suggested we come here for old times’ sake. “I’ve never actually set anyone up, much less Maggs,” I tell them. “Can you help me?”
Lexi shakes her head. “Sorry, chica. I’m out of the whispering business. You’re on your own.”
I look at Abi, but she raises her hands in protest. “No way.”
“Why did you agree to help Aiden, anyway?” Lexi asks. “You’ve always insisted that’s not how you roll.”
I shrug as I pluck a feather out of the duster. I have no intention of telling them about the Halloween party and Ty and my not-quite-fleshed-out plan to get him back. “Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.” I snap the feather in two. “What am I going to do?”
Lexi snatches the duster from me. “You’re going to stop destroying school property, for one. And you’re going to make good on your promise. That’s what Boyfriend Whisperers do. No matter how stupid and misguided and doomed to failure our promises may be.”
Abi shoots Lexi a side-eye. “Is that your idea of a pep talk? Because if it is, I think you’ve lost your touch.”
Lexi laughs and threatens to puff Abi in the face with the duster, but Abi swats it away. “Shouldn’t Maggs know about the match by now?” Abi asks. “It would show up when she logs onto the app, right?”
I nod. “Except she never logs on. She only took the survey as a favor for me. Maggs doesn’t believe in Libby. I think her exact quote was, ‘Love isn’t about algorithms. It’s about destiny.’”
“So that’s it.” Abi points her finger in the air as though she has discovered the most obvious and simple solution in the world. “You need to convince her that Aiden Jackson is her destiny.”
Lexi and I both stare at her.
“Okay. And how do I do that?”
Abi shrugs. “No idea. You can’t expect me to have all the answers.”
The fourth-period warning bell rings, and Abi opens the closet door. “Gotta run. Good talk, girls. And Alicea, you’ve got this. You’re pretty much the smartest student at Grand View, and you know Maggs better than anyone. If you can create a computer program like Libby, you can problem-solve this.”
I can’t help but smile. “You think so?”
“I do.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
“Sure thing.” Abi turns to Lexi, eyebrows raised. “And that’s how pep talks are done.”
Lexi threatens Abi again with the duster, sending her shrieking into the hallway. Lexi pauses and hands it back to me before heading out herself. She gives me a quick hug. “Abi’s right, you know. If anyone can pull this off, you can. I mean that.”
I lean against the closet door and watch them both disappear down the hallway and around the corner. I hope they’re right.
The bell rings again, meaning I’m late for my fourth-period study hall. I close my eyes and groan. I almost forgot, or maybe I was subconsciously blocking it from my mind. Darius and I agreed to meet this period to begin planning our balcony scene.
Darius Groves. My supposed match. How do I problem-solve that?
I find Darius in the back corner of our study hall lounge at an otherwise empty set of carrels, his head buried in a giant volume of The Complete Annotated Works of Shakespeare.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“No problem.” He raises his head slowly, deliberately, and gives me the once-over. He offers a half-smile and points to the book. “I have an idea for our retelling.”
Oh, dear. I’d assumed the one advantage of working with Darius would be that he would have no ideas. “Well, that’s wonderful,” I say as I sit do
wn beside him. “But I already have everything worked out. I know exactly how we’ll play this.”
“Is that so?” Darius’s eyes widen in what I think is amusement, and he pushes his too-long curls off his face. “Do tell, oh bright angel. Or in a modern day retelling, I guess that would be more like, ‘Talk to me, hottie.’”
I glare and force myself to ignore the fact that Darius Groves has just called me hot. “Texts,” I say.
“Texts?”
“Yep. We pull off the entire scene as a series of texts up on the screen. What could be more modern than that?” And what better way to avoid standing in front of the whole class, including Ty Walker, to declare my love for a total loser? “So instead of me saying, ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’ I’ll text, ‘Gotta run before my parents catch me. ttyl.’ Or maybe ‘c u later.’ You know, with the ‘c’ and the ‘u.’” I draw the letters in the air.
Darius nods. “Mmhmm. And I assume that would be followed by a frown emoji?” He draws one of those in the air.
I start to answer, then realize he’s making fun of me. Seriously? Mr. Pull-Down-a-Kid’s-Shorts-in-the-Middle-of-Gym-Class has the nerve to mock my brilliant idea?
“Emojis happen to be a very popular form of modern communication,” I say. I hate the fact that I sound so defensive and like such a … geekazoid. “Personally, I think it’s a great idea. It’ll be funny, and if we do a good job with it, we can pull an ‘A.’”
Darius’s eyes meet mine. His head is tilted slightly, his expression contemplative. When he speaks, his tone is soft. “Please tell me you can see the difference between ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow’ and a frown emoji.”
I look away, flustered by his gaze. “Of course I can see the difference. But I’m not Shakespeare, and neither are you, and people don’t talk like that anymore. They do things like send frown emojis.”
Darius sighs, and his shoulders sag.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s hear your idea.”
He shifts in his seat and eyes me warily, as though he’s no longer sure he can trust me with it. “Romeo and Juliet were from rival families, right? That’s why they couldn’t hook up. So how does that translate today? In high school?”
The Boyfriend Whisperer 2.0 Page 3
