Break It Up

by Tippetts, E. M.

The right thing to do is to say yes and not text again. Drop it. Let it be over.

  Kyra: Yes. I’m really sorry I fell asleep on your bed.

  Because I am an idiot and am having word vomit issues—even through a text interface.

  I don’t get a response.

  Until five minutes later.

  Brad Sego: I bet you were tired.

  Blood rushes in my ears as I read the words Zach Wechsler typed himself just moments ago. That text is the end of a conversation. He didn’t ask any questions, so that means our little back and forth is over. Those are the rules.

  But…I wonder if his mother never taught him the rules. Maybe he doesn’t know that girls aren’t supposed to be making chitchat with him via his phone?

  Why do I care, though? The whole point is to not prolong this whole “friendly” exchange. I put my phone down on my nightstand and flop back on my bed. Leave it, I think. It’s over.

  It feels like my phone has eyes, though, and it’s staring at me. “Don’t ignore me,” it says. “What if he’s waiting for a reply?”

  He isn’t, I think as I roll over and grab my phone. I’m being an idiot.

  Kyra: I was, but it was rude of me to just conk out, so I’m sorry about that.

  I hit send and say goodbye to any chance I ever had of really getting to know Zach Wechsler.

  An hour later, there’s no reply.

  Two hours later, I know the conversation is over.

  When I go to bed that night, it’s hard to sleep. What if I hadn’t sent that text?

  The next morning, my phone chimes and I see another message from Zach. My heart pounds hard enough to crack my ribs as I grab my phone and turn on the screen.

  Brad Sego: It was rude of me to be on the phone for two hours. I was talking to a friend of mine who’s an actress about changing managers. I shouldn’t be so worried about it all, but I am.

  Actress means a beautiful female, and I go at once into competitive mode.

  Kyra: No, I understand, really. Changing managers is like changing a tire at 70 mph. My uncle went through three when he was eighteen and his mother stopped managing him.

  I type every word out except for “mph.” No text speak. I hit send.

  I pad into my bathroom and brush my teeth. My heart leaps as my phone chimes again.

  Brad Sego: Oh yeah? How did he find the right one?

  Score. He took the bait. That’s what he gets for letting me know he’d talk for two hours to someone about a topic.

  I rinse my mouth, wipe my face on a towel, and wonder, Should I wait before I reply? Would immediate replies look desperate? Would waiting a long time look like a game? And what exactly am I doing? I force myself to take a reality check. He’s being friendly, nothing more. Employing some of my old tricks isn’t going to convert him into the kind of guy who’ll call me for a hookup.

  I go out into the kitchen, where Jen is in her bathrobe, nursing her half cup of coffee. At the sight of me, she raises her eyebrows. “You all right?”

  “I’m texting with Zach Wechsler.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Do your lecture thing with Jason and Chloe.” I wish Chloe still lived with us, but her house is finished and she’s moved.

  “What lecture thing?”

  “Where you explain that famous people don’t just fall for random non-famous people. Remind me that I’m no Chloe.”

  Jen gives me a quizzical look as she takes another sip of coffee.

  “Come on,” I urge her. “Tell me that Zach Wechsler isn’t just going to meet me once and fall madly in love and—”

  “Did you ever listen to that lecture at all?” Jen’s smile looks an awful lot like a smirk.

  “Yes. I’m—”

  “Not just anyone. My point is, you are a Chloe. You’re not just some random individual. You know a lot of people in common with celebrities. The point of my lecture was you need to be ready should there ever come a day when you date someone famous.”

  “No,” I argue.

  “Yes,” she shoots back. “I dated Julian Michaels for a summer, sweetie, and I got asked out by Brad Dempsey.”

  “I can’t date Zach Wechsler. He could have anyone.”

  She relents. “You probably won’t, sure.”

  “Augh…”

  “Coffee?”

  “He is so hot…”

  “So I hear.”

  “You are not too old to see it.”

  “Well”—she smirks again—“thanks for that. But I’m not even sure which one he is.”

  “The hottest one,” I say.

  “Oh, right. Forgive me. That one.” She sets her coffee cup aside. “So what happened?”

  “I totally should not have texted him, but I did, and he keeps texting back—”

  Jen winces and grasps her pregnant belly.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah, they’re just a little rambunctious today, and I swear, humans are not made to get this big.” She pushes off the counter and waddles towards the back hall.

  I watch her go and then stare at my phone for a few minutes. Zach asked how Jason found the right manager. I can’t think of a good reply that leaves any kind of question open. I’m too rattled. I type, “He just tried a few until he found one,” and send it. That is likely going to be the last communication I ever have with Zach Wechsler.

  Half an hour later, after I’ve switched the name in my phone to just his first name, comes another text.

  Zach: He ever have any bad ones?

  My traitorous heart pounds with excitement.

  Kyra: I don’t know. But he and his mom talk about it sometimes, how that’s one of the reasons why a lot of child stars can’t transition to a full-time career as an adult. It’s hard to survive the staffing change.

  After I hit send, I realize I just insinuated to Zach that his career might be on the decline. Smooth, Kyra. Real smooth.

  Another text shows up on my phone while I’m out for a jog, not that I’ve gotten all neurotic about my appearance or anything.

  Zach: Yep, I think about that a lot. I wish I still spoke to my mom.

  I didn’t really get up early enough for a jog, though. Albuquerque is a desert and running around when the sun’s overhead is a good way to get dehydrated.

  When I get home, while I’m still sweaty and disgusting, I type, “It would be hard not to have anyone to talk to.” Lame, is the first thought that hits me when I send it. I was clearly fishing for more attention there. I bet that ends things.

  Zach: It’s very lonely, yeah, so sorry if I talk your ear off.

  Kyra: No, don’t worry about it.

  Zach: When my mom left, we had to get the police to escort her off our property. We took out a restraining order against her.

  Kyra: I’m surprised the media didn’t find out.

  Zach: Well, our mom has her ways of preventing that kind of thing.

  I stare at that text for a long time. The media know how to get at anyone, anytime almost. I’ve heard of people cutting deals to bribe them and such, but I can’t imagine what kind of bribe would keep a tidbit like this a secret. I wonder how legal Zach’s mother’s “ways” are. “Still,” I type, “that’s gotta be rough.”

  Zach: It is. Our new manager’s nice, though. His name’s Rick and he’s very hands off. I worry that this is the wrong direction to go, because we were so successful with Mom.

  Kyra: Is it hard to get the three of you to agree on one manager?

  Zach: Yep. Really hard. ‘Could possibly break up the band’ kind of hard.

  All of these messages he sends me are media tidbits worth big money. I wonder whether he’s messing with me or really that naïve.

  Kyra: We
ll, definitely don’t let the media find out about that. You can trust me, though :-)

  There, the ultimate test—the smiley face in the text.

  Zach: I do trust you, yeah. Thanks for talking to me about this.

  My knees are jelly again after that last text. I cannot handle this. This text conversation has been spread across several insanely stressful days, during which I’ve only had to work one shift at Jen’s restaurant. (I fill in whenever they are short staffed.) This has left me way too much time to obsess. What are you doing, Kyra? I ask myself.

  I grab my phone and call Chloe. “Can you go to the movies with me or something?” I ask when she answers.

  “Not tonight, but tomorrow, sure.” She sounds exhausted.

  I really shouldn’t be bothering her. “Okay…”

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing new. Not really…”

  “You need to talk?”

  “Maybe…”

  “Listen, I’ll call you later on tonight, okay? You’ll be all right until then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Love you.”

  Those words startle me. “Thanks,” is all I manage to say before we hang up. Not that I think Chloe’s cold or anything—far from it. It’s just the first time she’s used those words with me, and now I feel stupid for being so awkward. I should have said them back, because I do love Chloe. She’s amazing.

  Jen waddles into the room. “Who was that?”

  “Chloe. I might go over to their place later.”

  “Did she call you or you call her?”

  “I called.”

  Jen frowns.

  Great, what have I done wrong?

  “Sweetie, have you been watching the news at all?”

  “No. Why? More stuff about Jason supposedly cheating?”

  “Well, yes, there’s that, and then there’s the case she’s working on. It’s a violent kidnapping and they still haven’t found the little girl.”

  Yeah…I should really pay attention to the news. See, the thing about Chloe is, she was kidnapped by her older brother when she was eleven and shot three times. It was a miracle she survived, and here’s an example of how small a town Albuquerque is in some ways: Jen and Jason’s parents, who were both with the DA’s Office, knew about her case. They even worked on it some and helped put her brother in jail. When Jason brought her to dinner that first time, they were thrilled to see that the little girl who’d almost died had grown up into this beautiful, hyper-competent woman. This current case is not what she needs on top of all the tabloids buzzing away with stories about Jason being unfaithful.

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to her.”

  “Honey, it’s fine. Just know that she and Jason are a little stressed out right now.”

  “I’ll leave them alone.”

  Jen pulls me in for a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead as she walks past me. “You’re fine. They love you. Just don’t feel bad if they don’t have much time for you right now.”

  “Right.”

  A couple of hours later, Chloe calls to invite me over to their house, and I go, even though I know it’s selfish. My issues are nothing compared to theirs right now. Still, I spill my guts to the two of them about my feelings for Zach.

  “Listen, Kyra…” Jason says. “Even if he likes you, he’s not a person. He’s a brand. He doesn’t have control over his own life. Where he’s at right now? I’ve been there, kind of. Whatever he does has to be spun one way or another by his ‘team’, and his mother’s famous for being a stage mom on crack. A girlfriend probably isn’t in the cards right now. She wouldn’t allow it. And a non-famous girl who’s a racial minority… I know that’s completely unfair, but that’s how the world is sometimes.”

  We’re standing in Jason and Chloe’s enormous living room with its cathedral ceiling decorated in stained glass and picture windows that show the sweep of the Sandia Mountains reaching up to the starry sky above.

  Chloe stands beside me, fidgeting. All is not well with her and Jason. I can tell, and I hate it. They can’t break up. Not after everything they’ve been through. No one deserves happily ever after more.

  Now isn’t the time to delve into my issues, to tell Jason that momager is gone and have a general meltdown about how confused I feel. I’m pretty sure Zach doesn’t think of me as a potential girlfriend. That’s just never been my role. The only relationships I’ve ever had were extended hookups when the guy I was with got territorial.

  I look from Chloe to Jason and back again, taking in their stressed-out demeanors, and let the conversation end. After I’m done nodding in agreement to whatever Jason says, I let Chloe take me into their kitchen, which is big enough to land a commercial airliner in, and feed me Pie Pops - one of the best sympathy foods ever. I found them in the freezer section of Sprouts and they are the ice cream version of chocolate silk and apple pie on a stick.

  My phone buzzes as we seat ourselves in the solarium—the all-glass room off the kitchen with more stunning views of the Sandias, the foothills, and Albuquerque’s glinting lights spread across the plain. I pull the phone out of my pocket and steal a discreet glance.

  Zach:I hope I’m not putting you off. Sorry to complain so much.

  Quickly I tap out a reply.

  Kyra: You aren’t! I’m glad you talk to me. Sorry to not reply there. Had a busy evening.

  I’ve been busy stressing.

  Zach: Oh, okay. Well, I’ll try not to be such a wet blanket, lol.

  If I reply to that, Chloe will notice and probably deduce who it is on my phone. Like Jason says, she’s a forensic scientist. She doesn’t miss much. But she seems preoccupied, so I chance it.

  Kyra: You aren’t. I bet you don’t have many people to talk to about this, so I’m really glad you talk to me.

  Chloe doesn’t bat an eye.

  Zach: I don’t, no. So thank you.

  I’m not sure whether to grin or cry. Chloe doesn’t notice. She’s just staring out the windows of the solarium as we eat our ice cream.

  On my way out of their house, I get a text from another California number I don’t recognize. It’s a selfie of Ben at a club, holding up a beer, and with it is a message.

  Ben: Cheers!

  I roll my eyes.

  Kyra: Wow, you’re the first person to drink underage, evah!

  Ben: What??? No, I’m just holding this for a friend.

  Kyra: Oh, right. Uh-huh.

  Ben: Don’t tell my mommy.

  Kyra: Or your aunt.

  Ben: I would have to kill you if you did that.

  I put my phone back in my purse and shake my head.

  The days roll on and so do the texts from Zach. Whole conversations take place in little snatched moments between the more mundane events of my life.

  Zach: So enough about me and my issues. How are you doing?

  Kyra: I’m fine. Things are pretty sad around here, though.

  Zach: Why?

  Kyra: That case that Chloe’s working on doesn’t look good. They still haven’t found the little girl.

  Zach: What’s Chloe do again?

  Kyra: She’s a forensic scientist, so she works in the crime lab.

  Zach: Oh. How old’s the little girl?

  Kyra: Ten, I think. Her name’s Esperanza. Kind of ironic.

  Zach: I don’t follow. Why is the little girl’s name ironic?

  Kyra: Esperanza means “hope” in Spanish.

  Zach: Oh, gotcha. You speak Spanish?

  Kyra: Yeah.

  Zach: What do you speak at home?

  Kyra: It used to be mostly Spanish, but when my dad married Jen, we pretty much switched to English. She knows some Spanish, but it’s textbook Spanish, not New Mexican.

&
nbsp; Ben: What up, Kyra?

  Kyra: The opposite of down. You really shouldn’t try to get homework help from fans. That’s cheating.

  Ben: You’re HI-larious

  Kyra: Yep.

  Zach: New Mexico has its own Spanish?

  Kyra: Yeah, I guess ours is really old. Like from the 16th century or something.

  Zach: That is way cool.

  Kyra: I dunno. People from Mexico and places like that think it’s kinda ghetto. Do you speak any foreign languages?

  Zach: Not really. My grandparents live in Germany and we used to spend a few weeks in the summer with them, but not anymore. No time.

  Kyra: That’s rough.

  Zach: It’s the price of fame.

  Kyra: Things just got really bad…

  Zach: What happened?

  Kyra: They found the little girl.

  Zach: Is she all right?

  Kyra: No, she’s dead. Poor Chloe! I called her and stuff but she’s having a rough time.

  Zach: I can’t imagine having a job like that.

  Kyra: Me neither.

  Ben: Hey grrrrl ;-)

  Kyra: *swats Ben on the nose with a rolled up newspaper*

  Ben: Excuse me?

  Kyra: No growling. Bad dog.

  Zach: Hey, how’s your day going?

  Kyra: Same. Not much new. Yours?

  Zach: I’m in Atlanta, Georgia. I think… Let me check.

  Zach: Yeah, this is Atlanta.

  Kyra: You forgot what city you’re in?

  Zach: We never stay in one place very long. If I was at the arena, I’d know, but the hotels all kinda blur together. Except now we stay in fancier rooms. I’m used to the little regular rooms.

  Kyra: You didn’t used to stay in the penthouse?

  Zach: Are you kidding? No, we stayed in little rooms, and Ben, Zach, and I had to share. My mom would rent out a whole floor and we stayed with all the musicians and roadies and everyone.