I nod my head yes, even though inside I’m screaming no.
WE NEED TO TALK
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID
I can’t run out of class. She’ll hunt me down.
When the bell rings, she takes my hand and leads me out of class.
“Val, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a date?”
“Colin Baker?”
“He sounds cute! Dish!”
A tsunami of relief washes over me. My date seems like forever ago. I refresh my memory before describing the guy and date to Val. I omit the broken-nose detail.
“He was a nice guy, but I don’t think he was into me.”
“I know all about that. Don’t worry, Becca. On to the next,” she says. We head through the cluttered corridor as kids race to catch their buses.
“I’m going to hold off for a little while on the dating front.”
“Becca,” she says, wiping a clump of mascara from my lashes. “You have to get back out there. So you had one bad date. Move on. You just have to keep searching, weeding out all the losers. Mr. Right is out there, but you can’t just sit back and hope he finds you.”
And then Val gives me the look, the look Diane warned me about. The look Huxley has perfected into a science. The “oh, you poor, pathetic single girl” look. Wide eyes, pouting lips. One of the biggest joys coupled girls have is giving their single friends dating advice. Just because they lucked out—and it’s luck, nothing more—they believe that makes them dating experts. I’m sure it’s one of the reasons Val worked so hard to land a boyfriend. She’s always wanted to be on the other side of this conversation.
“Val, I just don’t feel like dating right now.”
“That’s not a healthy attitude. There are so many great guys out there. Don’t shut yourself off.”
“I don’t need your advice!”
Val leans back, surprised by my outburst. “Fine, you don’t want my opinion. Let’s get a guy’s point of view. Ezra!”
With preternatural timing, Ezra walks down the hall at that exact moment. I wonder if he’s been watching us, if he saw my outburst. My body clenches, bracing for impact. But I also can’t wait to look at him again.
“Hey,” he says to Val. I never noticed how cute his deep radio-deejay voice sounds.
“Ezra, tell Becca that she needs to get out there and keep dating.”
Ezra and I look at each other, neither of us wanting to talk first. The thumping of my heart in my ears drowns out all ambient noise. It’s just me, Val, Ezra and blurriness.
“I don’t really think that’s my place to say,” he says.
“C’mon, even as a hypothetical,” Val says. “She needs to keep dating. There are a lot of good guys at Ashland.”
“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes drifting up.
“Can we not talk about my dating life?”
“Oh, stop. We’re all friends here.”
Ezra licks his lips. Awkward and adorable, for sure.
“What do you think, Ezra?” I ask. “Are there decent guys at this school?”
“There’s a handful.”
“Exactly, sweetie,” Val says. “Well, more than a handful. Three and a half handfuls.”
“But, you know,” Ezra says. He waves his finger, a grin emerging on his face. “I don’t think you should worry. I think if there is a gentleman interested in you, he will make it known. He wouldn’t let you get away.”
I grip my hanging backpack straps. “You think?”
“I have a feeling. He just has to wait for the right time, or until he can’t wait any longer.”
“It’s all about timing,” Val says.
“Good to know,” I say. I take a calming breath.
“Thanks, honey,” Val says to Ezra. “You’re the best.” She kisses him on the lips softly. Not like how I kissed him.
* * *
The only way to get my mind off the current drama surrounding my life is work. Not homework.
My other work.
Since it seems dangling another girl or guy in front of their faces is useless, I have to take a new tack to split up Steve and Huxley. I have to look within. I browse pictures of them online. I can only imagine how much worse school will be now that they’ve patched things up. Everyone will want to be like them. Students will move heaven and earth to find a suitable soul mate. And us singletons will be ostracized even more. I can’t let that happen. I click on a picture of Steve and Huxley in cowboy hats at some carnival, and the conversation I heard between Coach and Steve flashes in my mind. Then I remember Greg Baylor talking up Chandler University at lunch.
A half hour later, I waltz into Diane’s room with my laptop. I’m thinking this will be my last case as the Break-Up Artist, so I better make it count. Bari and Calista are onto me. Who knows if they’ve recruited others.
Diane finishes folding laundry. My mom wants her to do more chores around the house, and watching talk shows doesn’t count.
Without notice, the kiss with Ezra rears its ugly head again. Why do I keep thinking about him at the most random times? Is laundry some kind of subliminal trigger? I remind myself that I kissed my best friend’s boyfriend. I could be stoned to death in parts of the world for that.
Diane snaps her fingers in my face. “What’s gotten into you? Are you still hung up on that Colin guy?”
“No.” Of course not. I have a new boy to fixate on. Is that true? This is how a girl becomes guy obsessed. Will I just keep finding guys to pine for, an addict perpetually in search of my next fix?
“Don’t lie to me, Becca. I’m your sister. I used to change your diaper.”
I have to tell somebody. I have to say what happened out loud, to somebody. And Diane’s right. We are sisters. If I can’t tell her, then who can I tell? Definitely not my best friend.
“I kissed Ezra, Val’s boyfriend.”
Diane snorts when she laughs.
“I’m a horrible person.”
“You’re only a horrible person if you enjoyed it.”
She catches the extra current of shame rippling across my face. “Becca!”
This is bad. Even Diane is taking Val’s side. Every rush of excitement I get from thinking back on it causes an equal and opposite reaction of disgust. What if Val finds out? What if anyone at Ashland finds out? Is there a scarlet letter for bad friendery?
“I don’t know what to do,” I say. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“That’s easy. Don’t do it again.”
“What if I want to?” A week ago, I would’ve rolled my eyes and walked away from a person talking such nonsense.
Diane doesn’t roll her eyes. Her expression turns solemn. I wonder if she knew this day would come eventually.
“So you like him?” she asks.
I nod my head. I don’t know if there exists a tipping point for officially liking someone, but I believe I’m hitting the major criteria. Can’t stop thinking about him. Uncontrollably smiling when I do think of him. Want to see him right now.
“He sounds like a creep,” she says.
“No, he’s a good guy.”
“He’s dating your best friend and openly pursuing you. I don’t have a dictionary on hand, but I’d say that’s a creep.”
“It’s not like that. You don’t understand.” I picture the way Ezra acted with me, so delicate and sweet. He didn’t have a secret agenda. Diane only views people’s actions in black-and-white—mostly black.
“Will Val understand? You do realize that if you want a relationship with lover boy, your relationship with Val is over.” Diane scowls at me, taking this very seriously for someone not involved. “Are you going to be one of those girls who happily ditches her friends fo
r a guy?”
That leaves a bruise.
“It’s not like I meant for this to happen. It just did. I’m still trying to make sense of it, and I thought I could talk to you about it honestly. I thought for one day you could drop the whole ‘everybody sucks’ mentality.”
I set my laptop next to her. “Can you just make the call? I wrote out what to say.”
Diane gives me a disappointed look, as if I must always view her life as a cautionary tale. She peruses my script.
“And use a Southern accent.”
Diane dials Steve’s house. She rests her feet on the clean-clothes pile.
“Hello, Mr. Overland? How are you doing today? I work for Coach Robert Latham at Chandler University. I was calling to find out if Steve is coming down next weekend to check out our lovely campus....He hasn’t told you about it? Teenagers today!”
I stifle a laugh at Diane’s over-the-top accent. She’s watched Steel Magnolias one too many times.
“Greg Baylor had mentioned Steve was visiting next weekend during our open house....News to you? Well, here’s some news for you. It’s a great opportunity! All-expenses paid, meet with the coach and players, bunk in the dorms. I think he would really enjoy it.”
Diane gives me the thumbs-up. We can argue, but she’s always there when I need her. The definition of a Grade-A sister.
“...Of course. I understand. Absolutely discuss it with Steve, and just send us an email. You can even talk to Coach Latham directly, if you want. Don’t even have to bring up talking to lil’ ole me....Uh-huh. Sounds good. And tell Steve it’s seventy-five and sunny here. You have a wonderful night, sir.”
Love is in the air at Ashland. But not for long.
28
I’m woken up, not by it finally being light at this hour of the morning (hello, daylight savings!), but by the buzzing of my phone at five forty-five in the morning. From an unknown number. Curiosity overtakes grogginess, and I answer.
“Two-point-oh. Did I wake you?”
“Aimee?” Diane’s friends always called me Two-point-oh, a newer version of my sister. Leave it to her to call apart from Erin and Marian. She always did her own thing, even if that included calling at insanely early hours. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“The baby loves to kick.”
“Wow! It’ll be born before you’re twenty-five. You’ll be more of an older sister,” I say with a laugh. I don’t get why people want to have kids so young. I’ve heard your twenties are the best years of your life. Why do you want to waste them changing diapers? But Aimee always had a competitive streak, and if Erin could pop one out, then so could she—without gaining as much weight.
Wait—why am I making chitchat with my sister’s alleged friend at too-early o’clock?
“What do you want?” I ask. That sounds rude, but she can attribute that to lack of sleep.
“I want to talk to Diane. We all do. This has gone on long enough. I don’t know why Diane is so mad at us, but it’s time to clear the air.”
She makes it sound like Diane’s some little kid having a tantrum. “It’s been a tough year for her.”
“I wouldn’t know. She hasn’t spoken to me.”
“You don’t know what she went through.” My heart speeds up. I wasn’t expecting a fight this morning. I stay on the defensive. Even though what Aimee’s saying is technically true, like with my mom, Diane doesn’t have anyone else in her corner. It’s forever us versus the couples. “She was devastated. She was in shock for weeks.”
“I don’t know why,” Aimee says.
That puts me into shock. No need for coffee. I am awake.
“The writing was on the wall for months with them. I’m shocked they didn’t call it off sooner.”
“First of all, they didn’t. He did. Six hours before! If he knew from the beginning that his family wouldn’t let him marry a non-Indian girl, then why did he continue to string my sister along?”
“A non-Indian girl?”
“Yeah. His family said that if he didn’t marry an Indian girl, he would lose his inheritance.”
Aimee doesn’t say anything. I’ve heard of pregnancy brain, where you forget certain things, but did she honestly forget about that? “Is that what Diane told you?”
“Sankresh just wanted some fun before finding a traditional Indian wife.”
“Becca.” She lets out a long exhale, like people do when they have to say something they really don’t want to. “Two of his older brothers married white girls, and his family didn’t say a word.”
“Maybe not in public.”
“Being Indian had nothing to do with it. You think he would’ve waited until just before the wedding to call it off? Trust me, that was the least of their problems, and Diane knows it.”
“Then why didn’t she break it off?”
“Because she wanted to get married.” Aimee stops herself. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s not true.” I grip my phone until I feel the plastic buckling. “It’s not like you care.”
“But I do! We all care! Diane is one of my best friends. Even though she won’t talk to any of us, I still consider her one of my closest friends.”
“Seriously?” I wonder why they kept trying, when Diane wasn’t giving them anything back. Was their friendship really that strong?
“She was there for me when I was in a dark place, almost as dark as where she is now. It’s a weird-ass bond we all have, and now she won’t even talk to me. Do you know what that’s like?” I find myself nodding without realizing it. Diane can be stubborn, but she needs the maxipad girls.
I have some time before I need to hop in the shower. “I know how you can see Diane again.”
* * *
With ten days to go until opening night, rehearsals have been stretched an extra hour, which feels like an extra decade. Each minute is another challenge to not look over at Ezra, and to stop wondering if he’s looking at me. In those moments (and there have been plenty) when I succumb to temptation and turn my head to him, he’s distracted with painting or talking to his crewmates.
“Huxley, can we take a break?” Ally says, wobbling around. “I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
“If you must,” Huxley says, looking unimpressed. “Let’s take a quick water break.”
I’m relieved. Most of my hydration has sweated onto my clothes. I stumble to the water fountain with my empty bottle. Who knows what kinds of germs rest on it, but I don’t care. Must have water.
Kerry fills up hers and Ally’s water bottles. “Did you hear that another girl came forward claiming that she hired the Break-Up Artist? Urban legend, my ass.”
“I think between her, Sarah, Bari and Calista, they should find her in no time,” Ally says. I suddenly feel fully hydrated, but I can’t move. I must keep eavesdropping.
“Seriously, how sad and pathetic do you have to be to break up couples for money? She must be uuugly.” Kerry caps the bottles. “It’s all yours,” she says to me.
I check myself out in the reflection of my bottle. Isn’t it sad and pathetic that people in relationships act so horribly that they force people to contact me? I inhale a gulp before filling up my bottle. When I finish, I jump back, startled that it’s not a girl waiting behind me. It’s Ezra.
I look at him. I have to. He’s right in front of me. It’s the perfect excuse.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
“I was just getting some water.” He points at the fountain.
“Yeah. I just got some. It’s good.” I squeeze my bottle until the cap almost pops off.
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“Um, you looked... You guys were good out there.”
“Yeah. Ten more days.”
“Cool
.”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he says.
“I’m really excited.” We’re just two people having a conversation. Totally normal. Just talking about...I’m not really sure what we’re talking about, but it’s of the G-rated, non-home-wrecking-slut variety.
“I’m gonna get back to the squad and drink my water.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah.” I run-walk back to the bleachers. I remember that I’m still thirsty and take a sip. I would love for us to kiss again. (Wow, I did not know what I’d been missing out on!) Instead, I pucker up to my water bottle and chug.
“Rebecca,” Huxley says. I stop in my tracks. She waves me over.
I do as I’m told. “What’s up?”
“I have a question for you.”
“What is it?”
“How long have you and Ezra been hooking up?”
29
I peel pieces of the label off my bottle. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t lie, Rebecca. It’s rude and it gives you premature wrinkles.”
I crinkle my brow, seized by worry.
“So does that,” she says.
“I was just getting water.”
“I didn’t just fall off the boat. I’ve never seen such a charged interaction between two people. Well, aside from Steve and me.” She does a quick stretch while I stand here awkwardly. “Now I get why you weren’t into Colin Baker.”
I think fast for a cover story. “It’s really embarrassing.”
“I can’t wait to hear it, then.”
I sit down on the bleachers and act mortified—head in the hands, et cetera. “He picked me up from Chris’s party since you obviously weren’t driving me home. I was stupid drunk, and I kind of threw up in his car.” I laugh it off. “Like chunks of dinner all over his leather interior.”
She holds up her hand. “No need to elaborate. I recommend you stay away from alcohol, Rebecca, if only because of the empty calories. So nothing else happened?”
“No.” My voice returns to calm. The key to lying is convincing yourself that what you’re saying is true.
Huxley calls everyone back to practice. Even though she thinks nothing happened, I still feel uneasy about her knowing anything. I get back into position, and with all my mental power, I concentrate on dancing. Not on Ezra.
The Break-Up Artist Page 17
