* * *
Diane sits in my mom’s throne watching a cooking show with a chef so thin I doubt she ever eats anything she prepares.
“Hey,” she says. “You can change it if you want.”
“I have a question.” My voice travels to helium levels. “Did Sankresh’s brothers marry white women?”
“Wow. That was the non sequitur of non sequiturs.” Diane is wearing her usual uniform of Rutgers sweatshirt and pajama pants, and I want to take her in the back and hose her down. I feel this disgust toward her creeping in, toward what she’s done to her life.
“Did they?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then why was that okay?”
“Sankresh wasn’t as strong as they were. He was kind of a pushover.”
Maybe that explains why they were together as long as they were. Diane mutes the TV and kneels on the Throne to look at me. “Becca, relationships are complicated.”
“They can’t be that complicated if I break them up so easily.”
“Did you hear that?” I hear faint screams from upstairs, my mom’s voice. Diane and I look at each other, verifying that we both heard it.
“Mom, are you okay?” Diane yells as we run into my parents’ bedroom.
“If you don’t stop that, we’re going to call the police!” my dad yells.
Diane swings open the door. My mom and dad are screaming at someone out the window.
“Oh! My windows!” my mom says, feeling the glass. “If I find scratches, you’re paying for them! Do you hear me?”
I race to the window and nearly die from simultaneous shock and embarrassment. Ezra stands in our backyard, next to our rusty swing set. Pebbles lie at his feet.
“What the hell were you doing? You vandalized my property!” my dad yells.
“I’m sorry,” Ezra says. “I thought this was Becca’s window.”
“No, she’s one window over. Couldn’t you have sent her a text message?”
Diane pats me on the back. “It’s lover boy.”
“Who’s lover boy?” my mom asks. She comes closer and whispers to me: “Is that the boy you went on the date with? He’s not what I pictured.”
“No!”
“You vandalized my property!” my dad says again. He repeats himself when he’s angry.
“He’s a friend of mine from school. I’ll take care of this.” I draw the blinds and sprint to my bathroom for an outfit check and a quick blush and lipstick touch-up.
I haven’t spent time in my backyard in years. I’m too old to play here. It’s a shame I can’t donate the space to little kids in need. Ezra sits on a swing, probably getting tetanus as I speak. He digs his hands inside his hoodie. Our outdoor lights paint him in silhouette, and he’s never looked cuter.
“I’m sorry for the fracas,” he says. His voice sounds sexier than ever. I’m the only one that gets to hear it.
“Hey,” I say. For some reason, it’s the only word that comes to mind.
Ezra pulls me in for a kiss, and it sends a blast of electricity through me. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says.
“Me, too.” But I’m also thinking of Val. I squeeze his hand, wanting him to squeeze back.
“You’re incredible, Becca. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.” He runs his hand down my cheek. It makes me shiver.
Ezra’s phone chimes with a call, but he silences it before the second ring.
What if that was Val? I can’t let myself get sucked into the vortex like the couples at school. Not when Val is sitting in her bedroom alone trying to talk to her boyfriend.
“What is it?” Ezra asks, noticing my giddiness deflate.
“I can’t do this,” I say.
“Val?”
I nod. “How is this so easy for you?”
“I feel awful, but I know I’d feel worse if I let you go. It drives me crazy being in the same halls as you, and not being able to do anything about it.”
Does he prewrite these lines? Still, I can’t help but swoon. They only sound stupid until a guy says them to you.
“What are we doing?” I ask. “I can’t go behind my friend’s back.”
“We don’t have to. If she saw how right we were together, she would understand. She wants us to be happy,” Ezra says, completely clueless about his girlfriend. “I think she would be more upset if we kept sneaking around.”
“She would be miserable, no matter what.”
Ezra swings next to me. He laces his fingers into mine. I can feel his warmth prickling the hairs on my arm. “I don’t want to hurt Val. But why should we both be miserable to make her happy?”
I pull back. Suddenly she’s making him miserable? That’s a bit harsh. Val isn’t some third-world dictator.
“Bad choice of words,” Ezra says. He reaches for my hand again. “Not miserable. Val and I just aren’t right, not like us. There’s chemistry between us. You have to see that.”
I gaze up at the sky, reaching for some kind of answer. All I can see is the North Star and a few others fighting through the pollution and lights. I don’t know how a field of science with beakers and boron came to be a relationship necessity. There is something between us. A natural comfort level and physical attraction. It’s all brand-new, and maybe I should keep experiencing it. I want to.
I take a deep breath. “So what happens now?”
“I—I don’t really know. I guess I’ll start by meeting you first thing in the morning at your locker, and we’ll take it from there,” he says. Ezra tries for another kiss, but I shuffle to the side.
“What about Val? You need to break up with her.”
“I’ll do it before homeroom.”
“Ezra!” Even though we’re outside, I feel walls close in on me. I need time to process what’s happening. Does this mean I have a boyfriend? Isn’t there more of a gestational period? I wish there was an instruction manual.
“The longer we wait, the more upset she’ll be. We have to tell her.”
“Eventually,” I say. I leap off the swing set. I need to move around. “We have to wait. First, you need to break up with Val immediately. We’ll play it cool for a few weeks so she can heal and I can get used to all of this, and then we can go from there.” Ezra won’t have a problem because people always blame the other woman. I may not be popular, but Ashland High won’t be able to resist sinking its teeth into this gossip and piling on the dirty looks.
“What do you mean, ‘go from there’?” he asks. He grounds his feet into the dirt. “You mean become official?”
“Sort of.”
“I don’t want to wait! I want you to be my girlfriend now.”
“I thought you weren’t into labels.”
I prefer labels on my clothes, not my life. Why does it always come down to being in a relationship? I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I don’t want to join the packs of relationship zombies at Ashland. I don’t want to be known solely as someone’s girlfriend, or begin all my sentences with “my boyfriend.”
Ezra pats the swing next to him, and I sit down. His hands are clammy with sweat, and it’s nice to know I have the power to make a guy nervous. “Becca, I know this is fast. But have you ever seen When Harry Met Sally...?”
I nod yes. It’s one of the only Meg Ryan romantic comedies that doesn’t make me groan.
He gazes into my eyes, and it’s as if we’re back on the skating rink. “Remember the part at the end, when Harry says to Sally, ‘When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start now’? That’s how I feel about you. Not the ‘rest of my life’ part. But you are the girl I’ve been searching for. You’re so different and interesting. This may sound crazy, but I can see myself falling in love with you.”<
br />
I lunge forward and kiss him, one of those deep kisses where our faces mash together like peanut butter and jelly. With tongue, but not gross lizard tongue.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back touching you or kissing you every time I see you pass in the hall, but I’ll try,” he says.
I blush at the thought of Ezra being so ravenous around me. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” I say.
“Likewise.” Ezra kisses me again. We need to block out a Saturday afternoon to do that more. He pulls back, but our faces are so close.
I get a weird feeling and look up at my house. Diane glares back at me, then quickly draws her blinds.
30
Even Ezra chewing food is sort of cute. I dart my eyes at him for a split second while I stand in line to pay for my food. School has an added layer of excitement now. It’s a game we’re playing—sneaking glances in public, finding ways to brush against each other in the hall—and I want to win.
“Hey.”
I almost drop my salad. Behind me, Fred grips a tray with a Philly cheesesteak, potato chips and a regular Coke. I wish I could eat like that.
“Can we talk?” he asks. “In private.”
“Sure.” I sneak in a 1-2-3-look at Ezra while following Fred. We walk to the one pay phone left standing in school, possibly in the state. “What’s up?”
“Are you the Break-Up Artist?”
My stomach squeezes into a tight fist. I knew people would be suspicious eventually, but never thought I’d be accused point-blank. I don’t have time to prepare a story. Fred is drop-dead serious. He’s just looking for confirmation.
“What? No.”
“I saw you slip Steve’s phone into the couch cushions at Chris’s party. And then all that drama happened over the text messages. I started to think there was a connection.”
“I didn’t take his phone.”
“And then I remembered your revenge plot for Jeremy’s comics. The way you talked about it, it was strange, like you’d done it before.”
My hands are slick with sweat. I place my tray atop the pay phone. I thought I was so clever, so cautious, but apparently, I’m not invisible to everyone.
“Becca, I won’t tell anyone, but you have to stop.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, and he seems more nervous than me.
“Stop what?” I can’t even convince myself. “I’m not doing anything.”
Deny, deny, deny. Fred’s face sinks into a hangdog frown. He wants me to trust him, but I can’t. I can’t trust anyone with this secret. It’s too valuable not to use. He would be a hero to the school, to every school, to Huxley and Steve. His social standing would skyrocket. He’s too smart to not take advantage of that, and I won’t let him.
“I’m going to eat my lunch. The period’s almost over.”
“Bari keeps snooping around. She’s recruiting other girls who’ve used the Break-Up Artist. She’s getting closer. Whatever you’re planning, it’s not worth it. Give it up.”
I remain a locked fortress, and won’t even give him a nod.
“Listen.” He touches my arm then instantly pulls back as if I’ll bite. “I’m not sure why you’re doing this, but maybe it’s time to stop. You can’t manipulate people like this. Relationships are tough enough.”
“And how would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever had a girlfriend.” I pause, taken aback by my harshness. “Is the witch hunt over? Because I’d like to get back to my lunch table.”
He shakes his head, more like a teacher and less like a friend. “Don’t let me stop you.”
I leave Fred with the pay phone, and I fight back all feelings of guilt. His wounded expression burns into my memory, but I push it down. I have to look out for myself.
This will all be over soon, I repeat to myself. My time with Huxley is supposed to be temporary.
“You look flushed,” Huxley says. I take my usual seat across from her and her tiny green salad.
Greg horses around with Steve, punching his back and rubbing his shoulders. Huxley is not amused.
“Steve-o, we are going to tear up Chandler U! Like rip it from the ground. Start sleeping now, because this weekend is going to be nuts!”
Steve isn’t as hyper as Greg, but he can’t hide his dopey smile. He’s restraining himself for the table. Well, for one person in particular.
“Aren’t you already committed to going to Vermilion?” Huxley asks. “Isn’t it unethical to go on this visitors’ weekend?”
“I haven’t formally accepted either school yet,” Steve says. “My dad thinks I should check out Chandler before making up my mind.”
“You weren’t planning on playing football, though. Have you told them that?”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t completely shut that door, you know?”
“I thought your mind was made up.” Huxley keeps up her pleasant, sing-songy tone.
“I guess it’s not.”
The table gets quiet. Before any of their friends can second-guess the stability of their back-on relationship, Huxley scoops up Steve’s hands.
“You’re right. You shouldn’t close any door just yet. The weekend sounds amazing! I know you two will have a blast.” Huxley pecks his knuckles. He caresses her cheek.
“Thanks, Hux.”
Huxley pushes lettuce back and forth on her plate, and presses on one of her fake smiles.
* * *
Diane hates needles. In high school, she attempted to get her ears pierced, but flaked the second she sat in the chair. It wasn’t until her bachelorette party when Erin, Marian and Aimee got some Long Island Iced Teas in her and dragged her to a piercing place that she finally got them done. Sometimes, Diane needs to be pushed. Sometimes, she needs to be ambushed. I repeat this to myself as I sit in the living room waiting. I’m doing this for a good reason. Because I love her.
Diane walks into the living room, and the same look of hurt and betrayal that flashed across her face at Owen’s birthday party comes roaring back. Her shopping bags slip out of her fingers.
Erin, Aimee and Marian sit on the couch in various stages of drinking coffee. I stand up from the ottoman, my hands clasped. “Hey, Diane. Look who came to see you.”
Diane sits fully upright on the Throne across from them. If she were in etiquette class, she would get an A plus. I feel our track lighting beaming straight on me.
Erin and Marian seem as uncomfortable as me. Aimee, for once, is the quiet, passive one. Maybe it’s the pregnancy wearing her out.
“I’m so sorry about Owen’s birthday,” Erin says to Diane. The words puncture the silence like a fire alarm. “I had no idea you were coming, Diane. We’ve tried a million different ways to get in touch with you.”
“Finally, we decided to come over to make sure you were still breathing,” Marian says, flicking red hair out of her eyes.
“I am.” Diane rolls her bracelet around her wrist.
Erin looks at me for some help, but I can’t step in. I have to stay back. This isn’t my battle.
“Diane,” Erin says, sounding more desperate. “Please talk to us. We’ve been worried about you all year.”
“If you were so worried, then why are you only coming around now?”
“Why have you been ignoring us for the past year?” Marian asks. “We’ve called, texted, emailed. I think Erin wrote an actual letter and mailed it to you.”
“But you never came by the house. That would be too inconvenient for you, wouldn’t it?”
“No! Of course not,” Erin says, always the people pleaser. Baby Owen is going to be one spoiled child. “It’s just...”
“You’ve been too busy.” Diane shakes her head in disgust and points at Erin, Aimee and Marian. “A baby, an almost baby and a wedding. Who has time for the sad, pathet
ic friend?”
“You’re right, Diane,” Aimee says. “We were busy. Why would we visit you if you wouldn’t even pick up the phone? We love you, but we can’t put our lives on hold, and neither should you.”
Aimee glares back at Diane. She’s the muscle of the couch group. She possesses a bluntness and take-no-crap attitude that a woman needs if she’s going to work as a publicist while eight months pregnant. I would never tell Diane, but I always admired her.
“What Aimee means is that we are here to support you, but you can’t keep pushing us away,” Marian says.
“No, that’s not what I mean. What the hell is going on, Diane?”
“Why would you invite Sankresh and her to Owen’s birthday?” Diane says to Erin. Her entire body is still, poised to attack if need be.
“Because he returns phone calls,” Aimee says. “I’m not getting dragged down into your immature drama. It’s time to grow up and move on.”
Diane faces a wall of classic “I’m sorry you’re single” looks. In the mirror behind the couch, I catch my mom’s feet on the stairs. I want to join her so badly.
“It’s so easy for you to judge. Need I remind you that if it wasn’t for me befriending Bill senior year, you would still be single.” Diane looks up to the skylight. Tears form in her eyes, and she’s probably hoping gravity will push them back in. “The guy I loved broke up with me on the day of my wedding. You will never know what that feels like.”
“It’s not like you didn’t see it coming,” Aimee says. I want to throw her coffee in her face.
“What does that mean?” Diane says.
“Take off your rose-tinted glasses. There were plenty of warning signs, and you ignored all of them. Do you remember what happened at your bachelorette party? About two Long Islands in, you started crying about how you didn’t know if you loved Sankresh or not.”
I do a double take at Diane. I’m surprised she didn’t add dun dun dun.
“I was drunk!”
“But you still said it.”
The Break-Up Artist Page 18
