The Replacement Crush

by Lisa Brown Roberts

  “Go fill up those brains with something besides internet gossip and caffeine-fueled delusions, children.” She snapped her iPad cover shut. We filed out of the room under her suspicious sentry glare. I wanted to high-five her but didn’t dare.

  “Put Toff on the RC list,” Jaz said, falling into step next to me.

  I spun to look at her. “What? No way.”

  She huffed in frustration. “God, Viv. Isn’t anyone good enough for you? Don’t tell me he wouldn’t be an improvement over Jake. At least he’s funny.”

  “I’m not opposed to funny guys. I’d prefer that, actually. But I told you, I’m taking a logical approach to this. The next time I sneak out of the house to spend the night on the beach with some guy, he’d better be worth it.”

  But Jaz had stopped listening. Her gaze had shifted to my left where someone had stopped next to us just in time to hear the end of my rant.

  “Hi, Vivian.” The voice made my stomach dance, which was not good. Not good at all.

  Oh my God. Did he have a psychic radar that made him show up to overhear every embarrassing, incriminating thing I said?

  “Hi, Dallas,” I said, refusing to look at him.

  “Hi,” Jaz said, grinning. “I’m Jasmine Cho. You can call me Jaz.”

  “I’m Dallas,” he said. “Obviously.”

  Jaz shot me an oh-my-God-he’s-totally-nerd-hot look. I really hoped he couldn’t read girl-face.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I need your cell number. I might need to change my work schedule.”

  I turned toward Dallas. Since boy-face was much harder to decipher than girl-face, his expression was impossible to read. I wondered how much of my rant he’d overheard.

  The chimes sounded again. “I’ve gotta run,” I said.

  Dallas shoved a pen and notebook under my face. “Write fast.” I glanced up and saw his lips quirk. I scribbled my number on the paper, my fingers brushing his and shooting electrical charges up my arm.

  “Ciao, Vivian. Nice to meet you, Jasmine.” He shot us a crooked grin and disappeared into the crowd.

  Jaz opened her mouth but I poked her in the chest. “Do not squeal. Do not speak. Save it ’til lunch.”

  “But—”

  I poked her harder. “Save it. We’re already late for class.”

  “Fine,” she said. “But I’m only pausing the squeal, not deleting it.” She flounced away, as much as anyone in a vintage Ramones T-shirt and skinny jeans could flounce.

  ...

  At lunch, everyone sat at the same outside tables as last year. Jake and the dreadhead were practically in each other’s laps at the surfer table. Stomach twisting, I turned away, focusing on my sushi.

  “Where’s the notebook?” Jaz asked, unwrapping her peanut butter and honey sandwich.

  I glanced anxiously at the other Serious Artists sitting at the table. The last thing I wanted was anyone overhearing us.

  Jaz glanced at them and shrugged. “Don’t worry; they’re too busy listening to themselves.”

  “Fine. But let’s discuss this rationally before I commit anything to paper.” I speared a piece of sushi with my chopsticks.

  “You’ve already ruled out two excellent RC targets.” Jaz took a swig from her water bottle. “I need to know your criteria if you want my help.”

  Amy slid onto the bench next to me, fishing an apple and crackers out of her reusable lunch bag. “Hi.” She smiled at us, her amber eyes warm and bright. She’d rolled her gorgeous red hair into Princess Leia buns on the sides of her head. “Criteria for what?”

  I sighed deeply and poked at my tiny container of soy sauce and wasabi. Even though I knew I could trust Amy, letting someone else know about the replacement crush mission made me nervous.

  “Viv’s trying to knock Jake out of her brain by replacing him with a new guy. We’re making a list of potential replacement crushes.”

  So much for keeping it between Jaz and me. I stuffed another piece of sushi in my mouth.

  Amy’s eyes widened and she tilted her head, hair jewelry dangling. “Why do you need to replace him? Just go crush-free for a while.”

  I swallowed, my eyes stinging from the extra wasabi I’d used in my dipping sauce. “Okay, so that would be the smart choice, right? But apparently my hormones are completely out of control and must be pacified. They need someone to focus on.”

  Jaz and Amy shared a look that questioned my sanity.

  “I don’t think you can control who you fall for, Vivian,” Amy said. She took a bite of apple, crunching noisily.

  “Right?” Jaz nodded. “She won’t listen to me, though.”

  Snapping my lid onto my bento box, I took deep, calming breaths. Why was it so hard for my friends to believe this would work? “It was Spock’s idea. Metaphorically his idea, I mean.” I shrugged. “It’s logical, so I know it’ll work.”

  Amy and Jaz didn’t even try to hide their matching expressions of disbelief.

  I retrieved the purple notebook from my backpack. “Look, either you’re with me or you’re not. I don’t care either way. But I’m doing this.”

  “You know I’m in,” Jaz said. “I can’t let you come up with this list without my input or it’ll be a train wreck.”

  Amy nibbled on a cracker. “I hate to see you so unhappy, Viv. I’ll help however I can. But I can’t think of one book club novel we’ve read where the couple fell in love this way.”

  I wasn’t surprised that Amy brought up our romance book club. Even Mom had been surprised by how many people read romance novels. “People you’d never expect,” Mom always said, her eyes narrowing at the customers who traipsed into the store’s kitchen once a month to discuss the intricacies of shape-shifter romance, among other things.

  Mom and I had a running bet to see whose meeting brought in more attendees every month: her Body Count mystery book club or my Lonely Hearts club. Sometimes she won, sometimes I did. We had several crossover members who knew they’d better show up for both meetings or else.

  “I don’t want to fall in love,” I said to Amy. “Think of this as a matchmaker story, only instead of trying to find me a perfect match to fall in love with, we’re looking for…sort of a friend-zone match. Someone safe. Someone who won’t break my heart.”

  “If you’re looking for someone safe, that won’t fool your hormones.” Jaz’s eyes danced with mischief. “Hormones demand action. You can’t fool them with a cheap imitation.” She pointed at my bento box. “Like the fake crab meat rolls vs. the real thing.”

  Amy nodded. “She’s right, Viv.” She stacked her crackers into a small tower. “And, um, what if there are unforeseen complications?”

  I frowned. “Like what?”

  The cracker tower’s height increased, swaying slightly. “Well, let’s say you find a replacement, and you fool your hormones or whatever. But the guy like totally falls for you. Doesn’t that make you kind of a…a user?”

  The cracker tower collapsed, and Amy and Jaz busied themselves rebuilding it, darting me anxious looks.

  I squirmed uncomfortably. “Okay, so I see your point.” I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was use someone like Jake had used me. Maybe Spock meant I could make myself fall for my logical choice. Sort of like those historical arranged marriage novels in which the couple were forced together, then eventually fell in love for real. Why couldn’t I do that, too?

  “I guess what I’m doing is making a list of guys I could maybe some day fall for.”

  Jaz smirked. “So you’ll take them for a test run, or a test hookup?”

  I blushed. “Don’t be gross, Jaz. I mean, I’ll hang out with them. See if there are sparks—but not too many. A sparkler, not a bottle rocket.”

  “I still think it’s risky,” Amy said, popping a cracker into her mouth. “This could totally blow up in your face.”

  She must have read my expression because she reached over to pat my hand. “Hey, Viv, I don’t mean to harsh your idea. I know how much you li
ked Jake and how he broke your heart—”

  “Asshat,” Jaz interjected.

  “—but you know me: I’m a firm believer in true love. And I don’t think you can force it. It just…happens.”

  In a flash, I was transported to fourth grade when Amy and I bonded over a book series about cloud fairies. We’d read together at lunch every day, leaning against the school building, legs stretched out in the sun, while everyone else played kickball and tag.

  “I’m not looking to fall in love, Ames. I just want a simple, fun relationship. Nothing more.” I glanced at Jake and added, “And nothing less.” Amy raised an eyebrow at me.

  “I don’t think you can control that, Viv…it sort of just happens.”

  I propped my chin on my hands, feeling defeated. “You guys are right. It’s a stupid idea. I should give up on the entire male gender.”

  Amy sat up straight. “Now that is stupid.”

  “Look at me,” Jaz said. “Remember my rabid all-guys-are-a-holes phase when I swore off dating, patriarchal proms, and all that? Then I met Lance. I had absolutely no control over falling in love. Or my hormones, if that’s how you want to look at it.” She slurped from her drink. “I almost lost my feminista card.”

  “Feminists need love, too,” I said. “I consider myself one.”

  “But you’d be automatically disqualified from the feminista club, based on the silly books you read,” Jaz argued.

  Not this again. Jaz never listened when I tried to explain how women ruled an entire genre of books as both readers and writers, and how awesome that was. I opened my mouth to argue, but Amy was faster.

  “No!” Amy surprised us both with her vehemence. “I totally disagree. Girls can be strong and independent and still want to fall in love, but with the right person who appreciates all those qualities.” She glared at Jaz, pointing a knitting needle. “When’s the last time you read a romance anyway? It’s a huge genre filled with strong heroines, and the variety of—”

  “Forget it, Amy,” I interrupted. “Jaz might gorge herself on TMZ but you know she’s never coming to our book club.” Amy was super chill, but when she talked about books she got really wound up, which was why I loved having her at book club.

  “I have another reason for my mission,” I said, changing the subject to defuse the tension. It was a ridiculous reason, and I’d barely acknowledged it to myself, let alone said it out loud.

  Amy’s eyebrows shot up and Jaz leaned forward expectantly.

  “It’s stupid.” I took a breath. “Totally stupid, but when Jake and I were…you know…I hoped he’d be my date to the Surfer Ball.”

  Jaz and Amy shared a knowing glance. The Surfer Ball had replaced a traditional Homecoming at our school years ago. The surf teams planned the whole event, and it was always amazing. And ridiculous. The guys on the team wore board shorts with tuxedo jackets, and some of the surfer girls showed up in mermaid outfits. The music was usually a local alternative band. Last year all the snacks had been vegan. And gross. Still, it was the highlight of our social year.

  Somehow the dance had morphed into a Sadie Hawkins thing, too, where the girls asked guys instead of the other way around. Or girls asked girls. Some people showed up in groups instead of couples, but the weeks before the dance the school was electric with the nervous energy of girls selecting their escorts.

  And this year I thought I’d finally have a date. Not just any date, but one of the surfing gods himself. I’d even started planning my outfit during our intense bonfire kissing week.

  So much for that.

  Jaz took my notebook. Sharpie in hand, she bent over the cover while Amy and I watched. Whatever Jaz touched with her pens or brushes always took my breath away.

  “You don’t need a date to go to the dance, you know,” Amy said. “I’m planning on going dateless and I know I’ll still have fun. Come with me.”

  I nodded. It was always an option. But before I graduated high school, I’d like just one cliché to come true. The corsage. The cheesy couple photo. The perfect slow dance. Well, maybe not the perfect slow dance since now I was aiming for a zing-free date. But still.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. “Ok if I work 5:00 – 6:30 tomorrow? Need 2 do smthg @ 3:30. Sorry.” I stared at the text. No matter what Jaz said, Dallas could not go on the replacement list. He rattled me too much already, and I’d only known him for a day and a half.

  “Sure,” I typed. “C U then.”

  “Should I let your mom know?”

  “I’ll tell her.” I hesitated. “Where r u? Cells r strictly forbidden in class ;)” As soon as I hit send, I regretted it. Why had I added the wink? Was I flirting? What was wrong with me?

  I glanced up and caught Jaz’s smirk.

  “Put him on the list. You know you want to.”

  Amy looked back and forth between us. “Put who on the list? What am I missing?”

  Jaz resumed drawing with a different colored pen. “Dallas. New guy. Totally hot McNerd.”

  Amy lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really? I love nerds. Tell me about him.” She pointed to my phone. “He’s texting you already?”

  “Or is he sexting?” Jaz leered at me and I threw a cracker at her.

  My phone buzzed and I lunged for it as Jaz pretended to grab it, laughing.

  “He’s going on the list,” Jaz stage-whispered to Amy. “I don’t care what she says.”

  Ignoring them, I read Dallas’s text. “I’m stealthy. Like a ninja texter. ;)” I laughed out loud.

  “Oh my God, Viv.” Jaz flipped open the notebook and started writing. “He’s going on the freaking list.”

  “Wait!” I exclaimed. “You don’t even know the list format. Plus I want to see your cover.”

  Jaz huffed an exaggerated sigh as she slid the notebook across the table. I snatched it up in case it said something mortifying like, “How to Fix Vivian’s Pathetic Love Life.” But it didn’t. It was gorgeous, full of swirling colors and lots of beautiful, expression-filled eyes.

  I didn’t know how she captured so much emotion in a pair of eyes, but she made me feel as if I was looking at real people. In the bottom right corner, I noticed a pair of black-rimmed glasses behind which danced some familiar-looking green eyes. I glared at her, but she winked at me and took a long drink from her water bottle.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said, because it was, in spite of the not so subtle message she was trying to send with one particular pair of eyes. At least she hadn’t drawn a naked person inside the irises like on The Great Gatsby cover.

  “Let me see,” Amy said. I gave her the notebook. “Ooh,” she murmured. “You’re so gifted, Jaz.”

  Jaz blushed. “Come off it, guys. It’s just a quick drawing.”

  “Quick for you, maybe.” I looked at my phone. “Class starts in seven minutes. If you really want to help me, I’ll tell you some of my criteria.”

  Jaz shot me a wary look. “Okay, fire away.”

  “Okay, so number one and probably most important: he must not go above a five on the zing meter.”

  “A five?” Amy squeaked. “That’s hardly anything.”

  “I know; that’s the whole point.” The three of us had invented the zing meter our freshman year. It went from zero to ten, with ten reserved for famous dream guys, like Tom Hiddleston for Jaz. Jake had been a nine for years, for me anyway. Amy and Jaz hadn’t agreed, obviously seeing him more clearly than I did.

  “Is this your stupid Spock logic?” Jaz asked.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Do not mock the Spock. If I’d ignored Jake’s zing, I’d be much better off.”

  “Hmm,” Amy said. “But even though he’s an ass, for a couple of weeks the kissing and, uh, whatever, was awesome, right?”

  Jaz cocked an eyebrow. “What happened to crush-free Amy? Strong, feminist heroine Amy?”

  Amy sighed and leaned her chin in her hand. “Amy hasn’t kissed anyone for way too long.”

  We both laughed and Jaz squeezed Amy’s should
er. “At least you have standards and wouldn’t waste your time on a low-zinger, unlike our friend here.”

  Amy gave me a sympathetic smile. “All right. Let’s ignore the zing meter for now. What else, besides that?”

  “He has to be smart. And funny.”

  Jaz nodded. “Smart plus funny automatically makes him at least a six-zinger.”

  “No,” Amy disagreed. “The zing is all about the butterflies in your stomach, the sweaty hands. Not being able to breathe when he looks at you.” She sighed, looking wistful.

  I flipped open the notebook and wrote “RC Mission” on the top of the first page, then drew three columns, labeling them: Name, Pros, Cons.

  Jaz shook her head in disgust. “This is how my parents decide where we go on vacation every year. And why we always end up going somewhere boring.”

  “Let me see.” Amy read my column labels. “Oh.” She chewed on a fingernail and smiled weakly. “It’s, um, organized?”

  Fortunately the chimes rang, sparing us all from further bickering. “Whatever,” I muttered, grabbing the notebook.

  Spock was never swayed by emotional arguments and I wouldn’t be, either.

  “One of the advantages of being a captain is being able to ask for advice without necessarily having to take it.” —Captain Kirk

  CHAPTER FIVE

  News traveled fast in our school. By the end of the day, everyone knew about the cute McNerd who drove a Vespa. Judging by the random snippets of conversation I overheard, a lot of girls had a thing for nerd-hot boys.

  Somehow Dallas and I ended up in the bike/Vespa parking area at the same time after school. “Hey.” He nodded at me, helmet dangling from his hand. He wore a red Wisconsin Badgers T-shirt and jeans that made me want to stare at his butt.

  “Oh. Hi.” I pretended to look surprised, as if I hadn’t been hyper-aware of him in my peripheral vision.

  “Sorry I had to change the schedule. I need to run an errand, but I’ll see you at five o’clock?”

  “Sure. I’ll be there.” I tried to sound casual, reminding myself I needed to treat him like a fellow crew member on the Enterprise. “You ready to pay up? Cuz I know you lost the bet.”