How to Break a Boy

by Laurie Devore

  “Fine,” he tells his homework. “I’m going to be really busy tonight. I have to work on this paper.”

  “Oh. Of course. I thought—” I stop, feeling stupid. I thought he had invited me over to study. “My mom probably made supper anyway.”

  He doesn’t answer.

  Everything feels so surreal all of a sudden. Like I’m standing next to Mom, and Ryan’s casket is closed, and I’m screaming until my throat is raw, but no one hears me.

  Then I’m back in Whit’s room standing quietly, the afternoon’s angry adrenaline dissipating, leaving emptiness in its wake.

  Pay attention to me.

  I pick up a golf ball from his shelf and hurl it at his desk. It bounces off the wall, hits the trash can, and rolls across the carpet.

  I freeze in horror as he jumps up from his seat. That was so Adrienne. It was so, so Adrienne.

  I can feel it, deep in my bones … some part of me still wants to be like her. Even now.

  To be worse than her.

  “Oh my God, Whit,” I blurt out. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Jesus!” he snaps. “What are you doing?”

  “I didn’t—I’m not … This is your fault. Stop treating me like this.”

  Whit rolls his eyes, dropping back down in his desk chair. “What am I treating you like?”

  “Like my mere presence pisses you off,” I reply.

  “What was that shit with Adrienne back there, huh? Why did you act like that?” he asks me, eyeing me critically over his homework. I’ve commanded his attention over cosines, so this is a big moment.

  “I didn’t even think you cared. You asked if I wanted to go to practice with you.”

  He looks at me like he can’t believe I believed that. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of Adrienne. Did you want me to?”

  I cross my arms. “Of course not.”

  He’s shaking his head at me. “And then you went with her. I was offering you a way out of the situation, and you went with her anyway.” I can practically see the frustration rolling off him in waves, taste the betrayal in the air. “And then I couldn’t stop thinking about it at practice, and now I’ve been sitting here, still thinking about it, and I—” He rubs his eyes with the palms of both hands. “I don’t understand.”

  “I have everything under control,” I lie. “Why are you worried about it anyway?” I kick my shoes off and fall on his bed, curling my feet up under me in the process. Like he’ll forget he doesn’t want me here.

  “Because I don’t see why you have to antagonize Michaela Verday or why you’d ever side with Adrienne and let her humiliate you like that. What you did today was messed up.” He looks away, tapping his eraser annoyingly against his desk.

  I scoff. “Are you kidding me? Do you know she has pictures of Claire with—her friend? That she was basically threatening to show them to the entire school for kicks? Like Claire needs any more shit on her plate.” I’m getting angry again, just thinking about it.

  He snorts and doesn’t look up from his homework. God, I hate him.

  “You think that’s funny?” I ask. I am really and truly ready to get up and walk out of this forever if he doesn’t understand the lengths I will go to stop people from hurting Claire.

  “Who told you that?” he says.

  I stare straight ahead, not answering. He knows who told me what Michaela planned to do. He always knows.

  He nods. “That’s what I thought.”

  My heart is pounding. “She has the text from Coxie. I saw it. ‘More to come,’” I say with finger quotes.

  He swivels around in his chair to face me. “And Adrienne never has access to Coxie’s phone? You guys hang out with him all the time. She took my phone once already.”

  “She wouldn’t do that.” I defend her for some reason. Claire is the one thing that is still sacred to both of us—if not, she would’ve already told Claire what I did. I’ve seen Adrienne defend her over and over again.

  “Would you have?” he asks me, his eyes on my soul right then. Judging, always judging me. “If you thought you could manipulate Adrienne?”

  “No,” I insist. “Claire’s not a game. She’s one of us.”

  His eyebrows arch. “What about before—” He stops before he says your brother died. “Before everything?”

  I swallow through my dry throat, not wanting to say the words. Not wanting to lie to him. “I don’t know,” I finally manage, letting myself revel in the bit of self-hatred he brings to the surface. It’s a comfortable feeling, one I know all too well. Like a reflex, I begin to spin the narrative. “But Michaela has every reason to do it. She hates us, even Claire, and she wants Coxie.” I say it with so much authority, I almost believe myself.

  Whit turns back to his desk, scribbling on his paper again. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Claire doesn’t need you to defend her? Or here’s something novel for you to chew on—Michaela has more important things to worry about than Coxie.”

  “What?” I say when I can’t take it anymore.

  “You don’t want to know,” he tells his calculus.

  I get up and walk across the room. Rip the pencil out of his hand. “What?” I repeat.

  He sighs and looks up at me. “What do you know about Michaela’s life?”

  I don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Well, I hate to burst your secure little bubble, but Michaela’s mom is really sick. Like sick enough that Michaela can’t go away to school next year after she’s busted her ass at Buckley to do every extracurricular under the sun, so she doesn’t really need you shitting all over her life to add to it.” He shakes his head, turning away from me. “I don’t even want to know what you did, so don’t tell me.”

  All my defenses go up as though I’ve seen an incoming army. “How do you know that? About Michaela?”

  “You always act like everyone thinks you’re some bitch because they don’t know you and they don’t know what you’ve been through. But you don’t know Michaela, either.” He says all this calmly, like the world’s still spinning in the right direction, when I feel like the poles just switched under me.

  “I don’t want to. She’s always been horrible to me. She’s always been jealous of me.”

  “My aunt has been her mom’s best friend since high school.” He takes his pencil back. “I don’t think she wants anyone at school to know about it, so don’t tell everyone. If you can help it.”

  I drop my head. “What do you want me to do?” I ask him. “Not be me?”

  “Not this you. When you’re like this—all I can think of is the Olivia Clayton I thought I knew before I knew you.”

  I stare at my toes. “Who was she?” I don’t think I actually want the answer.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Someone who wanted everyone to be afraid of her. And jealous of her.”

  “I just want approval or love or something. I guess I’m desperate.” I think about it. “I’m always angry,” I offer. He doesn’t say anything.

  I stare around at the walls listlessly. I’m getting that postapocalyptic feeling that hits me sometimes when I don’t know where to go or what to do. “I’m going to go,” I say.

  “What? You don’t have to go.” He actually stands up to stop me. He looks all serious, but that’s Whit’s go-to face anyway. I can’t really tell what he’s thinking.

  I glance at his door. “What you said, about who I was before? I’m still her. I still wanted to believe what Adrienne said. I’m still doing her dirty work.”

  “You’re not,” he says, as if it were that simple.

  I am. I blink up at him. “You make me think that’s true. That’s why sometimes I don’t like being around you.” I swallow around this big lump in my throat. “You make me feel—you make me feel.”

  “So that means sometimes you do like being around me.” He smiles.

  I shake my head. “It’s complicated. It shouldn’t be. You’re just tutoring
me.”

  “And dating you.”

  “Kind of.”

  “But not really.”

  My teeth dig into my lower lip.

  “It sounds messed up, and it is, but I think sometimes I still say the shit I say and do the shit I do because it’s what it was like. Before.”

  “Before your brother died?” he asks, looking so serious and smelling like pencil lead, and I feel the raw nerves in every part of my body and want something in my life to be tangible so badly.

  “I really freak sometimes … because I can’t exactly remember what he looked like. I can’t see him anymore.”

  “That’s scary,” Whit agrees, instead of telling me it’s silly or I’m wrong for worrying. My heart feels lighter. It is scary. Finally, someone agrees with me.

  “See, like you,” I continue, because I’m finally talking about something real, “when I close my eyes, I see you perfectly.” And I do it just to prove my point. I reach my hand out until I’m touching his cheek, which should be weird, but right now, it’s not. “Your cheek that kinda goes up when you smile.” I run my hands over his mouth. “Your lips, sort of thin but long, and I can even remember how you press them together when you’re concentrating really hard.” My thumb catches against his chin. “And my favorite part. Your jaw. It’s so strong and you. I could recognize you from anywhere.” I open my eyes. He’s staring at my floating fingertips. I dish out a sad smile. “I knew Ryan for seventeen years; I’ve only known you for a month. It’s not fair. I should remember.”

  “You do.” His voice sounds strangled as it comes out. The way he’s taking in my face, I can tell he’s trying to memorize the details so he can spit them out the way I have. “It’s just stored away right now. You’ll remember.”

  I shake my head, breaking out of my reverie. “I know it doesn’t make sense. But it’s like if I’m closer to her, that girl I was before, I’ll see him again. Maybe. Or I can pretend he’s not gone. I even thought—even after Ethan—I thought I could go back. I thought I could do it all over again. It’s like this whole thing is just catching up to me. But I want you—everyone—to see me as someone better. I know that now.” I sigh.

  He stares at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows.

  “So you think you have time to study?” I ask, shaking it off.

  He looks down sheepishly. “I think I can make some.”

  43

  Mr. Doolittle can’t get a word out of me the next morning. Even he is staring at the clock by the end of our session. Still, nothing will deter him from trying to get me to admit what happened to Michaela’s car. “Miss Verday said it was a heated argument.”

  I shrug, staring out the window. “I don’t remember.”

  “Do you think all this anger has to do with your brother?”

  I should tell him to ask Whit. I’ve already discussed this. “No.” I sigh.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, Olivia, just go. I can’t help you if you don’t want it.”

  I look at him, stunned. Is he giving up on me after this month? He flips through some papers, looking haggard. I almost argue with him. At the very least, this isn’t what the school district pays for. But I don’t.

  Instead, I get up and leave his pathetically small office, heading out into the small waiting room that connects all the administrative offices. I don’t make eye contact with anyone as I walk toward the exit with my head down, getting away as quickly as possible before Dr. Rickards or someone else who might give a shit can see me. I only glance back as the doors swing shut behind me, leaving one last chilling image.

  Adrienne. Crying.

  * * *

  The thing about rumors is they all start somewhere.

  That’s the key. You make an innocuous comment to someone and plant a seed. Did you see how close they were sitting at lunch? Hasn’t Daniel been looking tired lately? They got here at the same time? The seed takes root, grows. That’s when you can escalate the story. With Adrienne, the rule of thumb was, tell only one person. If you go around telling everyone, eventually the rumor will catch up to you. If it spreads itself, it’s not your fault. They’ll never track you down.

  Eventually, the lie is so big, it must be true.

  This rumor is going to blow the top off the entire building.

  Anna is the first one to ask me, eyes full of mirth. “Where’s Whit?” She puts her hand on her hip and tilts her head to the side. She loves taunting me like this, but I’m not in the mood for games right now.

  “Unlike some people, I don’t have to put a tracking device on my boyfriend,” I reply.

  She laughs. “Maybe you should,” and walks away like it’s nothing.

  My heart races.

  It throws me when I can’t figure out what she means. Whit wouldn’t blow me off, would he? He could be dating that girl from Central again. That’s something he should’ve told me, though. We’re supposed to be in this together.

  I can’t help but feel like I did about Ethan, even though this is nothing like that. It can’t be. But the feeling is the same: the fear of betrayal. The gnawing in my stomach.

  It’s Anna, I reassure myself. She’s lying.

  But I’ve been whispered about plenty of times before, and I know when it’s happening.

  * * *

  I’m down at the water fountain, taking a sip and trying to listen to the conversation some sophomores are having next to me, when Claire grabs my arm. I jerk up.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Claire asks, glancing around nervously.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “In here,” she says, pointing at Coach Bradford’s classroom to our right.

  I nod.

  In the room, a solar system hangs from the ceiling, brightly colored planets dangling on fishing line. Some of those glow-in-the-dark stars light up the back wall, creating a dim light in the darkness of the room. “What’s up?” I ask Claire.

  She flexes her fingers, pulling against them as if desperate for a way out. “I heard something,” she says, and Claire saying it makes it so much worse. Claire doesn’t gossip for fun, especially not now.

  “What?” I say, gripping my bag tighter, thinking—knowing this is about Whit. It’s about what Anna said.

  “It’s about Whit.” She can hardly look at me.

  He’s cheating.

  No, not cheating. He’s in a relationship—a real one. Maybe with someone he cares about. He’s in love or something.

  Claire can’t talk, so I do. “Spit it out. What’s going on? Don’t make me be the last to find out whatever it is.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Claire, it’s not a big—”

  “There’s a rumor going around that he’s sleeping with Mrs. Baker.”

  “What?” I almost laugh—really? That’s the best they can come up with?

  She nods. “I mean, I heard it from everybody. I heard it from nobodies.”

  I scoff, like Claire, you’re so much smarter than this. “You don’t believe that. I mean, that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “There are pictures. People have seen them.”

  I cough. “Excuse me?”

  “Everyone says they’re in the process of putting her on leave so they can investigate. Mrs. Baker, I mean.”

  I stop. Then start. Then stop again. “Wh—how?”

  Claire looks confused, and who could blame her? I don’t know what’s going on, either. Finally, without a word, I nod at her and turn away.

  I walk quickly through the halls, head down, thinking. Adrienne. This is Adrienne. Her crying was all part of a show. Everything is always part of a show.

  But what has she done? How has she made this happen? It’s not true.

  Is it?

  * * *

  Adrienne is out on the football field during her free period. I watch her in silence as I walk down the stone steps of the stadium. Adrienne’s dark hair flies around her head as s
he swings down to the ground, thrusting out her hip and putting out two straight arms. She’s a study in beauty and sensuality when she moves. She finishes a turn and makes a note on her clipboard.

  Then she glances up. She shields her eyes with her arm and waves when she sees it’s me. Like it’s nothing.

  That’s when I pound down the rest of the stairs. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demand of her, hitting the grass on the football field and throwing my bag down.

  She smiles her Cheshire cat smile. “What are you talking about?” I know I should expect it by now, but I can’t believe it. I can’t believe after everything—everything I’ve been through, all the hurt she’s caused me—ruining something good for me is making her smile.

  But that’s why I did it to begin with, right? To make her angry. She sees it as a game. One she’s winning.

  “Whit is sleeping with Mrs. Baker? How did you even cook that up? That’s sick.” Mrs. Baker, who looks at me with such disdain, such superiority. With my boyfriend. Not my boyfriend.

  “Actually,” Adrienne says, consulting her clipboard, “it’s pretty common. Happened at Columbia earlier this year. Some women just need attention, and you’ve met Mrs. Baker. She’d love a little piece like Whit.” She snorts. “I actually posted some picture online of them having some sort of tutoring session. It’s amazing how things look from the right angle. And don’t even get me started on the special treatment he received when they found the test in his locker. She probably gave it to him so he could hook up with her instead of studying.”

  “Fuck,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “Fuck!”

  She stands there, smirking at me as rage builds up in my chest, and then I run at her, shoving her to the ground. I surprise myself more than her, I think, as she rolls me over and sits on top of me, cutting off my air with a knee. I choke.

  “Listen here, O,” Adrienne says, grinning. The itchy grass rubs against my bare skin, where my shirt rode up my back when I fell. “There’s not enough to go on now to really stir up any shit. Which means there’s only one person who can make this work. You.” She nudges me again, and I am gasping, dying, can barely hear her over the rush of blood in my ears. She notices and lets up a little, but I still can’t move. “You’re going to say that you saw them together. That you know something is going on. That’ll really screw with them. They’re already so worried and this allegation is very serious. Are you listening?”