Breaking Up Is Really, Really Hard to Do

by Natalie Standiford

  _a tell him you like it and that's all that matters.

  _b take it off immediately.

  _c sob quietly.

  _d cut it into tiny pieces and mail it to him covered in fake blood.

  If you circled mostly A's, you're a DRAMA PEASANT, also known as a Cool Customer. Nothing bothers you too much because you've got your priorities straight. Sure, your friends secretly call you an ice queen behind your back, but even that doesn't rile you.

  If you circled mostly B's, you're a PROBLEM SOLVER. When something goes wrong, you try to fix it—whether it's worth the trouble or not.

  If you circled mostly C's, you're a SILENT SOBBER. You may not be a Drama Queen, but you've got bigger problems. Consider antidepressants or therapy.

  If you circled mostly D's, start the hissy fit now because you're a full-blown DRAMA QUEEN. Congratulations, Your Highness.

  “Rob! It's nice to see you again.” Holly's mother, Eugenia, greeted Rob at the front door of the Andersons’ house. Holly hovered behind her, hoping to snatch Rob away and escape. It was Friday night. The Andersons were having a cocktail party, and Holly's parents had told her to have Rob stop by when he picked up Holly for the movies that night. Rob, thank god, was not wearing a t-shirt of any kind but a freshly pressed white button-down and khakis. Holly's mother, a thin, striking brunette, wore a long silk caftan and Holly wore a white cotton party dress printed with small yellow pineapples.

  “Hello, Mrs. Anderson.” Rob shook her hand.

  “I told you before—call me Jen,” Eugenia said. Holly's parents insisted on being called by their first names, Jen and Curt (short for Curtis), even by their own daughters. “You look so nice! Come in. I'll get Holly.”

  “I'm right here,” Holly said.

  “Hey, Holly.” He made a move toward her, as if he might kiss her, then stopped, probably because her mother was standing there.

  “Oh, go ahead and kiss her, it's okay,” Jen said.

  Rob looked uncertainly at Holly, who said, “Maybe later, Jen. Come on, Rob. Say hi to Curt.” She took Rob's hand and led him into the spacious great room, which was filled with laughing, chattering adults. Ice clinked in their glasses as they nibbled canapés. The great room, which took up most of the first floor, had wooden beams and an angled ceiling like a fancy ski lodge.

  “Hey, Rob!” Curt said warmly. “How are you, buddy?” He pumped Rob's hand. He was tall and broad-shouldered with curly, thinning blond hair, a ruddy face, and a thickening waist. He wore a blue blazer over his jeans and a pale-green polo shirt.

  “Holly, the Fowlers want to say hello to you,” Jen said, leading Holly toward the kitchen. Rob started to follow, but Curt said, “Stay here and chat a minute, Rob. You don't want to meet the Fowlers. They're dullsville.”

  “Curt! Not so loud!” Jen whispered. “Rob, maybe you could see if anyone needs a fresh drink.”

  “All right, Mrs. Anderson,” Rob said.

  “Jen,” she said. “You'll get used to it.”

  “Jen, we're going to the movies,” Holly protested. If she let her mother get them all caught up in the party, they'd never get out of there. Jen parked Holly in front of Gordon and Peggy Fowler, a tall, round-faced couple. Their daughter, Britta, was a junior at Rosewood.

  Peggy gave Holly a hello kiss. “Hi, sweetie. You look blonder. Are you highlighting?”

  “Not yet,” Holly said. “It's still natural.”

  “She's lucky,” Jen said. “If you saw what I go through to keep the gray from showing—” Peggy nodded knowingly.

  “Britta tells us you've got a pretty high profile at Rosewood these days,” Gordon said. “Some kind of dating Web site?”

  Jen said, “She showed it to me one night. It's really very clever.”

  “It was a school project,” Holly said. She scanned the room to see how Rob was doing. Curt was showing him how to pour a proper glass of Scotch.

  “Well, listen, Holly,” Peggy said. “I have a favor to ask you. You know, Britta's a junior now, and she's—well, she studies so much—”

  “She's never had a boyfriend,” Gordon finished. “Just hasn't been interested. Maybe you could take her along to a party or something one night? You two used to have fun together when you were little.”

  Holly vaguely remembered a five-year-old Britta swatting her and refusing to share her toys. “Uh, sure, I'll do what I can,” Holly said.

  “Nothing too wild,” Peggy said. “She's still got her college applications to think of. Just something to help her relax a little bit, enjoy high school, maybe meet some nice new friends.”

  What had Britta told them about her? They seemed to think she was some kind of social superstar. If only they knew the truth. She and Lina and Mads were more popular than they'd been before they started the Dating Game. But they still struggled to get the attention of the most popular older kids.

  “That's Holly's boyfriend over there,” Jen said. “He's cute, isn't he?”

  The Fowlers nodded and murmured nice things about Rob's darlingness.

  “Come on, Holly. I need some help in the kitchen.” Holly followed Jen into the kitchen. Jen plopped a tray of mini-quiches in her arms and pushed her back out. “Go! Go! Everybody's hungry!”

  “Mom, we're trying to make a seven-thirty movie,” Holly said. Jen ignored her. Holly caught Rob's eye as she circulated with the tray. He was pouring white wine for three women and seemed to be in no hurry to leave.

  Jen sent her on another round with the hors d'oeuvres before Holly finally caught up with Rob, who was having a grand old time with Curt. Curt was telling Rob about another cocktail party they'd had once, when Holly performed for the guests.

  “She sang the Alphabet Song, took off her shirt, and did a somersault,” Curt said. “She was the hit of the party!”

  “I was only four,” Holly said. “You're telling that story as if it happened yesterday.”

  Curt had had a little too much Scotch. He put his arm around Rob and the two of them laughed.

  “Curt, stop being a butthead,” Holly said.

  “Uh-oh, there she goes,” Curt said. “Holly doesn't like it when you tease her. Or when she doesn't get her way. Did you ever see that look she gets, Rob? We call it her Grinch face.”

  “You mean, like this?” Rob twisted his face into an impatient scowl.

  “Exactly!” Curt said. “I see you've had a few run-ins with the Grinch already.” They laughed again, which only annoyed Holly more.

  “You'll be seeing worse than the Grinch if we don't get out of here soon,” Holly said.

  “Come on, honey, we're having a great time,” Curt said. “Rob and I are getting to know each other.”

  Holly glared at Rob. She could see he was torn between pleasing her and pleasing her dad. “Rob,” she said. “What do you want to do? Go to the movies or help Curt hone his comedy act?”

  “Better do what Grinchy wants,” Curt said. He and Rob cracked up again.

  “Fine,” Holly said. “Yuk it up. You guys make a great team.” She stormed off to her room.

  “Holly!” Jen called after her. “Could you take the caviar out of the fridge?”

  She sat on her bed and counted the minutes until Rob came after her. Only five, but he could have come faster. Though she knew it was hard to get away from her father when he was in party mode.

  “Holly, I'm sorry,” Rob said. “You want to get out of here and go to the movie? Let's go.”

  “It's too late now,” Holly said.

  “Do you want to do something else then?”

  “Let's just hide up here for a while.”

  “Okay.” They lay down on her bed. He put his arms around her and held her. She nuzzled against him. She felt her anger melting away. It wasn't really his fault. She couldn't expect him to stand up to her parents. Still, she wished someone would, besides her.

  There was a knock at the door. “Honey, are you coming back to the party?” It was Jen. “Everyone's asking for you.”

&nb
sp; “Maybe we'd better go back,” Rob said.

  “Is that what you want to do?” she asked.

  “Well, I don't want to disappoint your parents.” He hesitated. “But what do you want to do?”

  She closed her eyes. “Nothing,” she said. “Go back to the party and pour drinks. I'll be down in a minute.”

  “Hmm…I see trouble clouding those baby blues.” Sebastiano Altman-Peck stared into Holly's eyes on Monday morning. Holly's locker was next to his, so she saw him at least twice a day. He was part of her routine, like brushing her teeth.

  “The Great Sebastiano sees all. The patient is experiencing acute love-itis along with symptoms of severe Sebastiano withdrawal.”

  “Excuse me, Great Sebastiano, while I turn away from your penetrating gaze.” Holly dialed the combination on her lock. “It's too early in the morning for this. What's Sebastiano withdrawal, anyway?”

  “You haven't seen me for two whole days. It makes you cranky. Don't worry, it's perfectly normal. People crave me like cigarettes.” Sebastiano rummaged through his locker until he found a long red scarf. “There you are,” he said to the scarf as he wrapped it around his neck. Fully dressed at last, he slammed his locker shut and leaned against it. “Now. What's with this love trouble? I want the dirt. I can wait all day.”

  “No, you can't,” Holly said. “The bell's going to ring in about two seconds.”

  “If I want to stand here and wait for you to spill your guts, I'll do it.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples like a mind-reader. “The Great Sebastiano sees a hunky brown-haired boy…a red baseball cap…a pair of plastic swim goggles…Could it be—? Yes, it's star swimmer and Holly-adorer Rob Safran.” He opened his eyes to confront Holly. “You might as well confess. I'll get it out of you sooner or later.”

  “Okay,” Holly said. “Something is bothering me just a microbit. One teeny, tiny little thing that's not the least bit important at all.”

  “Ah-ha,” Sebastiano said. “The Great Sebastiano is always right. And that tiny little thing would be—? It's the red baseball cap, isn't it. It makes him look like Ronald McDonald. Too bad, because he's a hottie when his hair isn't flattened into a heinous fringe around his head.”

  “I can live with the cap,” Holly said. “But there's something else. Before he kisses me he says, ‘Mind if I kiss you?’ every single time.”

  “Really? That's uptight of him. Have you tried ordering him to stop? Or are you too uptight?”

  “I'm not uptight!” Holly said.

  “You're just chicken,” Sebastiano said.

  “And he's spineless,” Holly said. “He always wants to do whatever I want, or my parents want, but he never says what he wants.”

  “Hmm…Here's my diagnosis. What you've got is a Boy Who Likes You Too Much,” Sebastiano said. “He likes you so much he's afraid he'll do something wrong. His love for you has turned him into a wimp.”

  “Is there a cure?” Holly said. “I really like him. And he's only being nice.”

  “Right. Nice. Nothing sexier than nice,” Sebastiano said. “What about Mo Basri? I saw him checking you out the other day. Don't underestimate your appeal, Holly. You're smart, you're sweet, but you have a dab of eau-de-bad-girl behind your ear, if you know what I mean. Rreow!”

  Holly paused. “Mo Basri was really checking me out?” Mo was a senior with glossy black hair and a sharp nose. He was popular and a little slick.

  “Watched you walk from here to the gym for three straight minutes without taking his eyes off you,” Sebastiano said.

  Holly let this sink in. After a long, blah winter, spring was here. Rebirth. New possibilities. Love in the air and all that. Maybe it was time for a change…in boyfriends.

  5

  Beauregard Writes Back

  To: linaonme

  From: your daily horoscope

  HERE IS TODAY'S HOROSCOPE: CANCER: One of your fondest wishes comes true today—and you might wish it hadn't.

  Lina, scoot down,” Sebastiano yelled over the commotion in the Swim Center. Lina slid down the bench to make room for Sebastiano, who wanted to sit next to Holly. Rosewood's varsity swim team had a big meet against Draper that day, and Lina had joined Holly and Mads to watch. Rob and Sean were key members of the team.

  “Oh my god, I've never seen Sean in a bathing suit before,” Mads said. She dropped her head to her knees. “I'm hyperventilating. He's so cute.”

  “Deep breaths, Mads, deep breaths,” Lina said, rubbing Mads’ back. Shouts and the shriek of a whistle echoed off the tile walls and the smell of chlorine sharpened the air.

  “Go Rob!” Holly shouted as Rob got ready to start the freestyle relay.

  “Hooray for Holly's honey!” Sebastiano shouted.

  “Mads, the race is about to start,” Lina said. Mads sat up, looking a little woozy.

  “Is this spot taken?” Walker Moore hovered beside Lina, notepad and pen in hand. Lina shook her head and patted the seat.

  “Thanks.” Walker sat down and crossed his long legs. He had cut his dreadlocks, which he used to wear tied back, into short spikes all over his head. He and Lina had gone out once, on an ill-fated double date with Holly and a jerk named Jake. Lina liked Walker, but not that way. Not the way she liked Dan Shulman.

  A whistle blew and the relay race started. Walker focused his attention on the pool. “Covering the meet for the paper?” Lina shouted over the din.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “We've got a good team this season. Maybe a shot at the championship.”

  “Go Sean, go Sean!” Mads screamed. Lina suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Sean wasn't even swimming yet. He was perched at the edge of the pool, waiting for Rob to finish his leg of the race and touch the wall.

  Rob and the swimmer from Draper were neck and neck. Rob touched the wall, and Sean dove in and took the lead.

  “Aaaaahhl” Mads squealed. “He's swimming! Go! Go!”

  Walker jotted something in his notebook and glanced at Lina. “Is she always like this?” he asked.

  “Pretty much,” Lina said.

  Sean brought Rosewood into the lead. All the rest of the team had to do was keep pace. They did, and Rosewood won the relay. The home crowd went crazy.

  The swim center quieted down as the teams prepared for the next race. Someone tapped Lina on the shoulder. Lina turned around to see a green-eyed senior with short, wavy red hair—Kate Bryson, the editor-in-chief of the Seer.

  “Hi, Lina,” Kate said. They'd never actually spoken before, so Lina wondered how Kate knew her name. “Hey, Walker. Lina, I've wanted to talk to you for a while. We really need a girl covering sports and I think you'd be great.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “I know you can write—I've seen some of your stuff on that Web site you and your friends have,” Kate said. “And haven't you published in Inchworm, too?” Lina. nodded. Inchworm was one of the school literary magazines. Dan was the faculty advisor and Ramona Fernandez the executive editor. They'd recently published a poem of Lina's.

  “And you're a kick-ass field hockey player, so you get the sports thing,” Kate added. Lina played field hockey in the fall. “Plus Walker recommended you.”

  Lina turned to Walker in surprise. He grinned and shrugged. Lina was flattered. Somebody actually thought of her as a writer. Or at least a potential writer.

  “So will you do it?” Kate asked.

  “Sure, I'll give it a try,” Lina agreed.

  “Good. We've got a staff meeting tomorrow at three-thirty. Show up and I'll give you your first assignment.”

  “Thanks, Kate.” She turned to thank Walker, but another race had started and he was closely watching the pool.

  “What was that all about?” Mads asked.

  “I'm going to be a sports reporter,” Lina said.

  “Cool!” Mads passed the word on to Holly and Sebastiano, who'd been watching the scene curiously. Sebastiano gave her a thumbs-up. “That's my dream job,” he shouted past Holly and Mads. “Well, af
ter photographer, shoe designer, famous non-starving artist, and flamboyant rock star. And ambassador to France. But I'm sure you'll love it.”

  Lina turned back to watch the race, but it was over. Uh-oh, she thought. I'd better learn to pay attention at these things.

  The first thing Lina did when she got home, as always, was check her e-mail. It had been a week since she'd written to “Beauregard” as “Larissa,” and she hadn't heard anything back. But today was the magic day.

  To: Larissa

  From: Beauregard

  Re: The List

  Dear Larissa,

  Thanks for answering my ad. I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to you but to my surprise, my ad has received a lot of responses. It took a while just to wade through them all. But I liked yours the best. It was short and simple but nice.

  So here's a little bit more about me. I'm a high school teacher. I love the kids but I'm not crazy about the subject I got stuck with. It's called Interpersonal Human Development, and even though the school year is two-thirds over I'm still not sure what that's supposed to mean. I'd much rather teach literature, but those jobs are hard to find right now, especially around here. I'm originally from Iowa City, but I came west to go to college and I fell in love with the Bay Area, just like everybody else.

  What about you? I think it's so cool that you're studying film. Where are you studying? I'm a huge Jarmusch fan, and the Coen brothers, of course, but I like Tarantino, too, with reservations. Who's your favorite filmmaker? I could talk about movies all day. I hope you'll write back soon.

  —Beauregard

  Lina could hardly believe what she had contained inside her computer. She'd already learned so much she never knew about him! She'd suspected that he didn't like teaching IHD, so it was satisfying to find out she was right. And he was from Iowa! That was so cute. Lina had never been there, but she pictured golden wheat and green cornfields. What kind of place was Iowa City? Did people ride tractors down the street?

  She read the e-mail a second time, and a third. She didn't know who Jarmusch was, but at least she'd heard of Quentin Tarantino and the Coen Brothers. She IM'ed Holly and Mads.

  linaonme: guess what? beauregard wrote back!