The Breakup Artist

by Shannen Crane Camp

  “David?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I was just thinking about how well this job is working out . . . and how well Blane worked out, and I was thinking . . . maybe if we did a background check on each client to make sure they weren’t some sort of ‘chronic dumper,’ we could still keep the business going.”

  He didn’t say anything for a minute, and I thought maybe I’d overestimated the appeal of this proposal.

  “Go on,” he said after a moment, much to my relief.

  “Well, maybe you could perform the background check since you have vast journalistic skills,” I said as I nudged him with my shoulder. We had moved on from his less-than-kind description of me in his article, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t taunt him with it every now and then. “Maybe you could decide if the person is a worthy client and I could do what I do, then you could sweep in and save me from any commitment at the last second.” I paused, thinking through this a bit more now that I’d said it out loud. “Maybe we could say that everyone can get one breakup before they’re no longer eligible for the service. The only time we’d perform multiple breakups for the same person would be in special cases like Rachel McKlintock, where they’re already so spoiled that our refusal wouldn’t make a difference.”

  I looked up at David and saw that he was actually working through my proposal in his head, which, honestly, was much more than I’d expected. I tried to let him think without staring at him, so I closed my eyes and just concentrated on the way his chest rose and fell with each slow breath he took.

  “I like that idea,” he said finally, actually sounding pleased. I looked up at him to see him smiling back down at me. He kissed the top of my head and I reveled in the odd compromise to the two futures I had originally imagined. I was the luckiest girl alive to get to have a little of both of the worlds I couldn’t seem to give up.

  ☼☼☼

  Project “Alex Swensen” was in full swing by the time I pulled into the parking lot on Wednesday morning. David had scoped out the perfect spot where he could keep an eye on what was going on and sweep in at just the right moment. No matter what happened, today was a pivotal moment for this job, and a lot rested on exactly how I played the whole thing.

  I emerged from my car in a dark blue lace tank top and a short white skirt. I passed David in the parking lot briefly, but we didn’t acknowledge each other’s presence, though I could have sworn I heard him say something about how I looked like a sailor. I wanted to turn around and shoot some counter attack about how he had dressed like a rich kid today, but I had to stay focused on the job. I had a very expensive looking, but very fake diamond necklace around my neck, and I had curled my hair once more, letting it fall wildly around my face.

  David and I had both gotten to school a bit late that day and therefore had to wait until break to perform the entire scene. It worked out better that way, in my opinion, because having more time was always an advantage. It left room for mistakes. I walked to my class, taking note of the various prom posters around school. They all advertised the same date: May 17. It was only four days from now—this Saturday night. I wondered fleetingly if David would ask me, or if I even wanted him to ask me. Prom seemed like such a trivial ritual, but it would be fun to go. I had never been to a dance before, and while I was sure actually dancing was out of the question, it would be nice to get all dressed up with David.

  I spent my entire class texting David to make sure he was ready for everything. He quickly reminded me that it wasn’t hard to strut in and act like he loved me. This made me smile and blush deeply, which didn’t escape the notice of my teacher. I tried to keep my emotions more at bay for the rest of the class but continued to text David any time my teacher wasn’t looking.

  By the time I left class and headed toward the tennis courts, I was feeling like a secret agent. I was even considering coming up with my own theme music when a look at Alex brought me back to the here and now. I noticed with some apprehension that his friends weren’t flanking him as they normally were. I started to wonder if I had overestimated my charm. Alex wore an odd expression that I couldn’t really understand, and I was slowly becoming convinced that he had found out the entire plan and had dismissed his cronies to beat me to a pulp, or something equally as horrible. Knowing him, that “equally as horrible’” thing would have something to do with discontinuing my nonexistent trust fund.

  “Marie?” he said as I approached, and I wondered if he was looking for confirmation of my identity or simply a nod to show I was listening. I opted for the nod. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot these past couple days,” he began, and I could almost taste the victory. I even felt a bit bad, since he seemed to possibly care about me.

  “Have you?” I said noncommittally.

  “Yes . . . and I’ve been thinking that we could be good for each other. I mean, with my family’s connections and your family’s connections, we could do anything.” Oh, how romantic. He wanted to date me because we could plot to take over the world together. That’s what every girl wants out of a relationship.

  “Really? Because I was beginning to get the impression that you and Rachel might still be together,” I said, wanting him to actually tell me that he had broken up with her.

  “Me? No, I’m not with Rachel anymore,” he said casually.

  “Is that so?” I said simply, assuming with some relief that this meant he and Rachel were officially broken up. I hadn’t been able to actually confirm this fact since Rachel seemed too busy to take my calls all of a sudden. Shaking the thoughts from my mind and turning my focus back to Alex, I smiled, trying not to let him see my distaste for him. I was desperate for David to sweep in and bail me out, but he hadn’t come yet and I couldn’t quite understand why.

  “So, with that out of the way, I was wondering if you would want to be my girlfriend. Just imagine how much influence we’d have. No doors would be locked to us.” This boy’s method of romancing a girl really wasn’t a flowers and chocolates approach, was it? I waited for a moment, trying to look like I was thinking it over, while in reality I was waiting for David to make his big entrance. Suddenly I was beginning to panic, wondering if maybe he thought we were doing it at lunch and was just waiting for me by the library. I looked around nervously, but I couldn’t spot him anywhere.

  “Your girlfriend?” I repeated, trying to buy myself some time to think.

  “Yeah. I really do think it’s a good match, and I’m sure our parents would agree.”

  “Well, there’s no denying that,” I said enthusiastically, still waiting for David to rescue me from the clutches of Stock Exchange Boy.

  “So, what do you say?” he asked, obviously a bit put-off by the fact that I hadn’t answered him in the affirmative right away.

  “I say . . . um . . . that’s a really generous offer . . .” I trailed off, not quite sure where to go from there.

  “But one she sadly can’t accept,” said the sandy blond–haired boy who had suddenly appeared right beside me. I didn’t have to fake my relief at the sight of him, though I wanted to stomp on his foot for taking so long.

  “Jackson, what on earth are you doing here?” I asked, my face the epitome of astonishment. “I thought your parents took you on holiday to . . . to . . . Paris.” I had forgotten my line, apparently, but I thought my recovery was convincing enough.

  “I told them to fly me back early when I realized I was going to miss your birthday, honey bear.” I had to choke back a laugh at David’s moment of improv. We had definitely not decided on disgusting pet names, though I wouldn’t mind giving him a taste of his own medicine.

  “Well, I’m so glad you did, snuggle bunny,” I said in the most pathetic baby voice I could manage. Alex looked as if he wanted to vomit, which I couldn’t blame him for. If I thought someone was seriously calling her significant other snuggle bunny, I’d have to run for a trash can too. David looked as if he wouldn’t last much longer. His stomach was shaking with the effort of holding his laug
hter in. “Sorry, Alex, I didn’t know I was sending that kind of signal to you. But I swear, it’s not you, it’s me . . .” I shrugged innocently and took David’s hand.

  “Let’s go make birthday preparations on my yacht,” David added enthusiastically, making it difficult for me to keep my expression neutral. “It was lovely to meet you, Andre,” he said over his shoulder as we left. If David hadn’t done a relatively thorough background check to show me that, until Rachel, who was even more well-connected than him, Alex had been quite the player, I would have felt slightly bad about the whole thing.

  “Honey bear?” I asked, as we walked down the hallway to the now familiar spot by the library. David laughed loudly at his own cleverness and messed his hair up, loosening the gel that had kept it slicked back for our little show.

  “Honey bear is nothing compared to snuggle bunny. Where did you even get that from?” he asked incredulously.

  “Just by looking at you, lovekins,” I said, pinching his cheek as we stood at our spot. Sitting was out of the question in my short skirt.

  “All things considered, I think that went pretty well,” he told me, after disheveling his hair to his satisfaction.

  “It would have gone better if you had actually come in when you were supposed to,” I said accusingly. “What took you so long?”

  “It was fun to watch you sweat,” he said cheekily. I hit him on the arm and pretended to pout for as long as I could stand it, which was only a few seconds.

  “Well, say you’re sorry so I can forgive you or no yacht ride for you.”

  “I’m so sorry, Amelia Marie Bedford. From now on I will ruin the lives of others right on schedule.” I gave him a sharp look but ignored his apology and pulled out my phone.

  “Now, to see if everything worked out with Rachel,” I said, by way of an explanation.

  “Hello?” came Rachel’s sleepy voice. I just couldn’t understand how that girl could sleep in so late all the time.

  “Hey Rachel, it’s Amelia. I was just wondering if everything worked out all right? Because if it didn’t, then you have a cheating boyfriend on your hands.”

  “Oh yeah, Daddy was really upset and said I couldn’t date him for another minute,” she said nonchalantly. I suppose it would have been too much trouble for her to call and tell me this herself. “So I’ll send someone over to the school to slip the money into your locker next week. I’m taking a small vacation from the whole public school thing.”

  “All right, well, good luck with that,” I said insincerely as I hung up the phone. David looked at me inquiringly and I just said, “Rich people.”

  “Rich people indeed,” he agreed as he looked me up and down. “I wasn’t aware that rich people dressed like sailors,” he said with a laugh.

  “At least I didn’t wear something straight out of a cologne ad,” I said incredulously, though my voice still held a humorous edge.

  “Hey, you just said wear ‘expensive looking clothes.’ Slacks and a button-up shirt are expensive,” he said reasonably. “Although maybe popping the collar was a bit much.” I just shook my head at his logic, a smile creeping onto my face. “Besides,” he continued, “I wanted to look nice when I asked you.” I stared at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but apparently that was all I was getting without giving him a little prodding.

  “Ask me what?”

  “If you would be interested in going to prom with me.” He looked at me expectantly now, all joking gone from his face. My smile widened for a moment before melting away.

  “I think all of the tickets are sold out,” I answered dismally.

  “Yeah, I figured that would happen . . . that’s why I bought them when we decided to call a truce last week.” I could tell that he was pretty pleased with himself, and quite frankly, I was too.

  “I would love to,” I said happily, trying not to look like a grinning idiot. David beamed at me before his face became serious once more. “Oh no. There’s more?” I asked, completely at a loss for what else he could possibly need to say.

  “I know it’s none of my business but I figured . . . maybe getting a dress and everything would be a good opportunity for you to spend some time with your mom.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but I heard him perfectly.

  It had been sweet of him to think of that, but I couldn’t imagine my mom and me spending a girl’s day out to go shopping for a dress. Not wanting to spoil his plans, though, I said, “Yeah, maybe,” without much hope that my mom would agree to come with me.

  “Just promise you’ll ask?” he said hopefully.

  “I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  My mom wasn’t home when I got back from school that day but, wanting to be true to my promise, I left her a note telling her David had asked me to prom and that I would like her to come dress shopping with me if she had the chance. I wondered if she would even come home before Saturday to get the note. Even if she didn’t, it was none of my concern because I had upheld my part of the bargain and I was going dress shopping tomorrow night, with or without her.

  To say that I was feeling slightly less than happy with my mother would be an understatement. I couldn’t seem to figure out what bothered me most about her choice: the fact that it was so horribly wrong or the fact that she felt the need to cut me out of her life to live one that she thought was more exciting. If it weren’t for David holding my hand through the past few days, I wouldn’t have known how to cope with everything.

  With my note taped to the refrigerator and my homework all finished, I decided to paint for a while. I kept my phone beside the easel in case David called and dove into painting something very green—something the same color as his eyes. Only minutes into the painting, my phone began to vibrate, instantly catching my attention. I wiped the paint off of my hands hastily and picked up the phone only to see an unfamiliar number on the screen. I hesitantly flipped the phone open to see who my mysterious caller was.

  “Hello?” I asked cautiously. No one ever called me, since no one really had my number.

  “Amelia?” It was a voice I knew I recognized but couldn’t quite place a face with.

  “Yes?” I answered, trying to sound politely confused.

  “It’s Nate.” So that’s where I’d heard the voice before. Nate sounded slightly distressed, and I couldn’t understand why he’d be calling me unless something had happened to Karen.

  “Is she all right?” I asked instantly, finding that I actually cared about the girl’s well-being.

  “I guess so,” he answered without much enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t really know. I haven’t seen her since the last time I talked to you.”

  “What?” I asked astonished. I knew her mom had given in pretty easily, but I hadn’t expected her to go back on her word. I figured that she would just be a bit more strict than she had let on.

  “She never lets me see her . . . but it’s hard to exactly say she’s keeping her from me, because every time I want to come over, she has a really good excuse.” Nate sounded weary, as if his constant efforts to see Karen had worn him out. “First it was a doctor’s appointment, then she wasn’t feeling well enough to have any company, now she’s saying that Karen needs her rest to regain her strength . . . I mean, maybe this is all true, but it’s just so convenient that this all happens every time I try to see her.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to think of some way to help the situation. “Have you asked her mom about this? Confronted her to see if she really is lying?”

  “No . . . I don’t want to sound too pushy. After all, Karen really could be feeling sick, and I don’t want to make it worse by forcing her to see me.”

  “Well, have you tried talking to Karen?” I suggested, though I was sure he had definitely tried that.

  “She won’t answer her phone,” he said with a sigh. I mulled this over for a moment, trying to think of some way around this.

  “Nate, you’re just going to have to be the grown-up here. You need to tell
her mom that you want to see Karen and call her out on this. Ask her if she’s lying to you. It may seem a bit direct, but if you don’t do it now, her mom will just keep phasing you out until you’ve lost interest.” I wasn’t really sure I was giving him sound advice, but it was the best solution I could see to the problem.

  “I think she’ll let me see her eventually. I think she’s just trying to keep me away until after prom . . . she thinks it’ll be too much for Karen to handle.”

  I sighed, seeing his point. “Just try what I told you and I’ll try to think of a better solution in the meantime,” I said reassuringly, feeling a bit like Dear Abby.

  “All right,” he answered, sounding like he didn’t have much faith in my solution. “Thanks again, Amelia.”

  After I got off the phone with him, I couldn’t help but feel like this was largely my fault. After all, I had been the one who suggested they talk to her mother in the first place. And now Nate didn’t see Karen at school or at home. He just didn’t see her at all. And it was because I had given them the alternative of having her go back to being homeschooled. It was another brilliant idea from Amelia Marie Bedford.

  ☼☼☼

  Thursday the 15th arrived with as much gusto as a Thursday could muster. It was one day closer to Saturday, which made me feel a bit more excited about the coming prospect of actually going to prom. At first I hadn’t been amazingly excited about the whole thing, but the fact that I’d actually get to participate in a normal human experience was something I was greatly looking forward to.

  I went downstairs after pulling on what I figured would be my normal wardrobe from then on. My jeans and colored tank tops perfectly suited my personality—the real me that it had taken so long to find—unassuming but well adapted. I smiled at my own comparison and pulled an apple out of the fridge. As I closed the heavy white door I glanced at my note to see if it had moved at all, only to find a new piece of paper stuck to the fridge with the simple words “I’d like that” scribbled in blue pen.