The Breakup Artist

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The Breakup Artist Page 9

by Shannen Crane Camp


  “But fifty dollars, Amelia?” He sounded almost disappointed. “If you’re going to be such a sleaze bag, at least charge more.”

  Whoa, I must have missed something in that conversation. I tried to quickly replay everything he’d just said but couldn’t seem to find where he suddenly thought I was the one being ripped off.

  “I thought you didn’t like how I made money,” I hurriedly pointed out.

  “I don’t like it or condone it in any way, but if you’re going to sell your soul, at least make sure the devil isn’t ripping you off.” He said this all so matter-of-factly that I was beginning to wonder if he was actually a breakup artist also and he was just trying to scare me out of his territory. It wasn’t so hard to believe.

  “Anyway, we’re digressing. What I’m trying to say is that I want to help you,” he concluded, as if that statement made all the sense in the world.

  “By destroying my one way of paying for college?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Not your business. I want to burn your business to the ground. And I will. I want to help you.” For some odd reason he thought putting the emphasis on different words made his point more clear. He might as well just emphasize every word for all the difference it made. I shook my head at him, showing that I still wasn’t following whatever it was he was trying to say. He hesitated for a moment, which I found scary. Mr. Big Mouth didn’t know how to put whatever it was he was trying to express into a fully formed sentence. “Are your parents still together?” he asked finally.

  I let out a deep sigh of annoyance. So that’s where this was going. He figured that I must be some poor, emotionally scarred girl who was so messed up inside that the only way she could comfort herself was by ruining other people’s relationships. That had to make perfect sense, right? Because who would actually do my line of work if they weren’t some kind of sadist?

  “This has nothing to do with my parents,” I said darkly, implying that he should simply drop it before I shoved my granola bar down his throat. He nodded his head slowly in a superior way that made me sick. He thought he’d really hit something now. I wondered secretly if he had some sort of timer going so that he could charge me by the minute for this psychology session. “My home life, like my job, is none of your business. So back off.” I glared at him, my blue eyes burning holes into his green ones for as long as I could without blinking. He went longer. Of course. Anything that could possibly be annoying, this boy could do.

  “Amelia, I want to help you get over whatever it is,” he began, before I silenced him with a raise of my hand.

  “I’m not a news story, David. I’m really sorry you need fuel for your writing, but it’s not me.” And with that I left for class, even though I still had a good ten minutes before the bell rang. I must admit though, the look of shock on his face as I walked away actually made the whole argument worth it. I had no idea why he was so surprised by my words, but honestly, right at that moment, I didn’t care.

  I knew David would probably try to follow me to class so I went the one place I could—the girl’s bathroom. Once I was locked safely in a stall, I sat on the tank of the toilet and let my forehead rest on my knees as a hot tear slid down my cheek.

  I’d been asked by many school counselors how I felt about my father disappearing. Obviously it wasn’t a big deal to me, but none of them seemed to believe that. They always told me it had to have some sort of deep psychological impact on my life that would manifest itself unconsciously in my actions, and I always waved away their suspicions with a laugh. Yet here David was, making—what I’m sure he thought—was a pretty obvious connection. A girl who ends relationships as a job must have divorced parents who don’t have enough time to pay attention to her. This was simply a way of getting some attention. At least that’s what he thought.

  Of course I’d never ruled out the possibility that my odd choice in hobbies could have something to do with my father walking out on us, but it wasn’t like I felt like a neglected child. I was fiercely independent and didn’t need anyone else in my life telling me what I should do. It wasn’t a hard concept to figure out, and yet people were always trying to analyze me and tell me how I felt. Shouldn’t I know how I feel better than a complete stranger? There’s nothing I hate more than people who think they know me because of one short interaction. In reality, there isn’t a “me” to know. There’s always only what the clients needed, and there’s nothing more to my story.

  ☼☼☼

  Biology was the same as it ever was. We learned about things that were interesting but difficult to understand, which meant that half of the class was snoring within the first five minutes of lecture. I tapped my foot nervously all through the genetic code as my teacher pointed to different graphs and illustrations. I couldn’t seem to focus all of my nervous energy. David had made it pretty clear that he planned on ruining my career if I kept taking on clients. That was a frightening prospect after the little demonstration of his effectiveness with Blane, though the fact that everything seemed to work out fine with Blane did give me some hope. The breakup actually seemed to go better after David’s interference. Not only was I able to lure Blane away from Lexi, but I didn’t have to worry about him pursuing me now that he thought I had a boyfriend. If it weren’t for David’s stubborn insistence that I was a horrible person for breaking people up, we could’ve started a pretty effective business together.

  I stored that thought away for later consideration, even though it was a moot point. What I really needed to focus on right now was how to get David off my back. I refused to transfer my business to another school just because of some irksome boy. No, this simply had to be handled delicately. Luckily for me I had finished up all of my clients, so I didn’t need to worry about the threat too much for now. I’d just have to be worried once Valentine’s Day rolled around, or, more specifically, the day after Valentine’s Day.

  Amazingly enough we hadn’t been given any biology homework, and so, with my spirits slightly higher, I made my way to my locker to drop off my book. I figured David would be off ruining someone else’s life with his self-righteous psychobabble, so I didn’t need to worry about him popping out of any corners. This didn’t stop paranoid thoughts from creeping into my mind, though. If it weren’t for the long brown hair and obviously feminine figure looming near my locker, I would have run in the other direction, swearing it was David.

  I approached cautiously, fully aware that this was probably a potential client, which meant that my new little stalker wouldn’t be happy. I looked over my shoulder self-consciously, as if expecting to see him standing there, but there were no bright green eyes in the swarm of students rushing to get home and away from the watchful gaze of teachers. I approached the brunette, noting with a touch of annoyance that I’d be dying my hair for the third time in only three weeks.

  “Hi,” I said, forcing an anxious smile onto my face. The girl smiled back sweetly, her green eyes instantly reminding me of the source of my unease. “How can I help you?” I asked, slipping easily into my professional tone.

  “I heard you . . . help people? With awkward situations?” Her voice was timid, and I got the feeling that this whole idea made her nervous. I definitely couldn’t imagine this girl breaking up with anyone herself—she was just too nice. This meant I’d be helping her, so, despite what David thought, I was a good person.

  “Yes, I break up with people,” I said matter-of-factly, since I was pretty sure she could never spit the sentence out. “For a small fee,” I added hastily. I didn’t enjoy taking money from people, but I wasn’t putting myself through this for fun. She blushed slightly at my words, a pronounced pink that I’d bet her boyfriend thought was adorable.

  “Oh, of course. How much is it?” She was just so soft-spoken and polite, it almost hurt to tell her my fee. I thought it might break the glass bubble surrounding her.

  “Fifty,” I remarked with another look around to make sure David wasn’t lurking in a corner. She balked a little at
the price but quickly rearranged her expression into one of neutrality.

  “That’s fine. So how exactly do we do this?”

  I exhaled, not wanting to deal with this when I was in such a state of panic. I pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and quickly scribbled my email address onto it. I thrust the paper at her, beginning to feel a bit impatient that I wasn’t already in my car on my way home. Safe.

  “Send me this boy’s name, age, three points of interest, and the date you need the job finished by. I’ll also need your contact information in case there are any questions I may have about the boy.” I said this all quickly and stiffly, as if I had memorized it long ago and it was just something I recited from time to time. “Oh, and a picture so I know what he looks like.” The girl nodded shyly and I looked her up and down, memorizing her style and mannerisms quickly so that I’d know exactly what I’d be working on for the next few days.

  She wore khaki pants with brown tennis shoes and a light pink three-quarter sleeved shirt. Her long brown hair was curly and pinned back away from her face so that the curls could cascade down her back. Basically, she looked like she stayed home all day and baked brownies for fun, and then went out on Saturday night and gave them to the homeless. I wasn’t quite sure how I was supposed to seduce someone and be sweet at the same time, but that was the challenge I’d have to face.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, realizing that through my little schpeel I’d never gotten any information about her. I was just so used to summing a person up based on their style.

  “I’m Karen,” she answered quietly. Her voice seemed so drained of confidence that I indulged in a Romeo and Juliet type of fantasy for a moment, thinking that she really loved her boyfriend but they had to break up because their families hated each other. Of course, that whole scenario was ridiculous, but it worked just for that moment.

  “All right, Karen. If you’ll just email me that information, I’ll get started on your job right away.” She nodded as she silently read the address I had given her.

  “I’ll get the money to you tomorrow. I don’t have it on me right now . . . if that’s all right?” Normally I never took a job without getting the money first, but Karen didn’t really strike me as the type to have me work for her and then make off without paying me, so I agreed and said my good-byes.

  The parking lot was almost completely empty by the time I made it out there. Students, who generally moved about as fast as a skateboard through a room of gravel, managed to get themselves going at a pretty decent pace when it meant they’d be leaving school. I walked to my car with my eyes trained on the ground, hoping that if I didn’t see David while walking out to my car, he wouldn’t see me. It was perfectly possible that he had already gone home, and I held onto that possibility with all my might.

  Of course, my hoping did nothing. I looked up to find a sandy blond lounging against my silver car with an intent look on his face. I rolled my eyes at his serious expression and approached the car. He was leaning against the back door, leaving my door free, so I took full advantage of this and went straight for the keyhole. I plunged the key in, hoping that I could simply outmaneuver him and get into the car before he could say anything. He grabbed my hand just as I turned the key, however, and stopped me from getting any further.

  “Do you agree to my terms?” he asked suddenly, as if picking up a conversation we’d ended only a few seconds earlier.

  “What terms?” I grumbled. He sighed, obviously exasperated by my short-term memory.

  “I want you to stop this little ‘business’ of yours, and I want to help you.”

  “Well, those aren’t really terms, David. Terms would be more like ‘you stop your business and I’ll give you a million dollars.’ Now those are terms I’d agree to.” He looked at me with his brows drawn together in deep concern, and I glared back. “Oh, stop being so dramatic! It’s not such a big deal, all right! I’m not emotionally scarred, I’m not a bad person, and there’s nothing wrong with how I make money. You’re the one who needs help. What kind of person dedicates a year of his life to following some girl around? Now that’s creepy.”

  “Amelia, I don’t know why you won’t just admit that this has something to do with your own insecurities and not so much to do with making money.” His tone aggravated me. It said, “I know what I’m talking about and you don’t.” It was superior and I’d had enough of it.

  “Of course it has to do with money. I don’t do this for fun, David. I just need money for college. Why is that so hard for you to believe?” It didn’t make sense that he couldn’t see the simple answer when it was right in front of him. It was pretty obvious that I did this for money, but his constant insistence that this was something else just baffled me. And the fact that he had decided to make it any of his business was complete nonsense.

  “You could make more money at an after-school job than you are with this. Plus, from what I’ve noticed, you probably waste most of the money you make on hair products and new clothes for your clients.” The obviousness of this statement did strike me for a moment. But only for a moment. I clicked my teeth together and looked up to the sky as if asking for assistance from some greater source to help me deal with this menace.

  Perhaps I could make more at an after-school job, but if I did that, I wouldn’t have an excuse to constantly change myself. I’d be a normal person set to the normal rules everyone else had to live by. I’d be expected to make friends and uphold relationships. I’d be expected to participate in the normal high school rituals like prom. And worst of all, I’d be expected to fit in with the rest of the crowd. I wouldn’t fit in by choice, like I did when I pretended to be other people for my clients, but I would fit in because I’d be just like everyone else.

  Though the money was definitely a perk, I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed living by a different set of rules than my peers. It made me feel different and special to be able to stand back and criticize high school life without actually having to participate in it. I actually worried that if I had to start being a normal high school student I’d become so used to the mediocrity that I wouldn’t even notice how normal I’d become. I’d just keep sinking into the crowd until I was as faceless as everyone else. I’d be given a brand like “jock,” or “drama geek,” or “nerd,” and that would be that. No one would look past my label, or even have a desire to. They’d sum me up by what I wore or who I hung out with . . . just like I did with them.

  The sad reality of this existence must have manifested itself on my face because David looked instantly concerned.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, worry lining his features. I nodded silently and composed myself.

  “I need to get home. My mom and I are going out to dinner,” I lied. He nodded in understanding, still staring at me with acute concern, but he let me pass. Once in the car I drove to the store to get brown hair dye, and then home to my empty house. Once I got there I pulled some leftover chicken from the fridge. My mom hadn’t bothered to leave a note this time, but I knew she wouldn’t be home, so I finished my food, dyed my hair, and went to bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I got up early the next morning to check my e-mail. Sure enough in my inbox there was one new message from Karen. I typed her information onto a fact sheet and printed it out. The sheet read:

  Name—Nate

  Age—16

  POI—Gaming, geology, hiking

  Deadline—ASAP

  I wasn’t quite sure why Karen hadn’t given me a more specific deadline, but I could work with it, so I didn’t complain. Looking in the mirror I was almost shocked when I saw my brown hair. No matter how many times I dyed my hair, that first look in the mirror was always a bit frightening. I combed my fingers through it, noting with pleasure that it was still soft and shiny. I was definitely blessed with resilient hair.

  Opening up my closet, I browsed through it for some “nice girl” clothes and decided on some white Capri pants, a light blue short sleeved shirt, and wh
ite tennis shoes. I pulled half of my brown hair into a ponytail, letting the rest hang down with a small wave. Though I wasn’t actually breaking up with the boy today, I wanted to get into character so I’d be more comfortable when I did it. I’d have to catch up with Karen at school today and orchestrate her upcoming “sick” day. Until then, I’d just hang back in the shadows and maybe observe her with Nate so I could get a better idea of what kind of boy I was dealing with.

  As I pulled into the school parking lot, the silent threat David posed still hung in the air. I glanced around the area, doing a quick scan to make sure he wasn’t nearby. When I was satisfied that he was nowhere to be found, I made my way to Karen’s normal hangout. She had said that she and Nate were usually in the cafeteria between classes, so that was where I set my course.

  The cafeteria was relatively empty, which didn’t surprise me since most students ate breakfast at home or simply skipped the meal altogether. A few students huddled in close groups at the long picnic tables, exchanging that morning’s gossip. Others sat alone, slouched over their miniature milk cartons with dazed looks on their faces.

  I spotted Nate and Karen instantly. Today Karen’s long brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail secured by a pale yellow ribbon. She laughed loudly at something Nate had said, but instantly slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Her eyes grew wide and she giggled soundlessly at her own candid show of amusement. I smiled at her behavior in spite of myself. I looked over to survey the other half of the couple, which is when I saw Nate for the first time. He had short, light brown hair and the rosiest cheeks I had ever seen. His features, however, weren’t what struck me about him. It was the look in his eyes that really stood out. The way he looked at Karen reminded me briefly of the way movie stars look at each other in romantic films, though this look was less polished. It was a warm, sincere look that could have melted anyone’s heart. From where I stood, it actually appeared that Nate cared about Karen, rather than what she could do for his popularity or what she looked like. He actually looked into her eyes when she whispered things to him, and his smile was genuine.

 

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