The Boyfriend Whisperer

by Linda Budzinski

  Boxers or Briefs?

  Do not acknowledge his response.

  Step Two: On Friday, before the pep rally, Brendon will most likely stop at his locker in C Hall. Walk by, catch his eye, and smile.

  Note: This is not to be a timid smile. It is to be BOLD and BRILLIANT and shout: “I AM A CONFIDENT, BEAUTIFUL GIRL, AND ANY BOY IN THIS SCHOOL WOULD BE LUCKY TO DATE ME.”

  Step Three: At the pep rally, sit somewhere within his sightline. Make no further contact until you receive my next set of instructions.

  Sincerely,

  The Boyfriend Whisperer

  www.boyfriendwhispererenterprises.com

  P.S. You ARE beautiful, and any boy at Grand View WOULD be lucky to date you. Don’t forget that!

  “And finally, give it up for your defending state championship Grand View Patriots girls’ basketball teeeeeam!”

  Principal Cho calls my teammates out one by one at the pep rally. He announces my name last, and I dribble across the court, through a tunnel made up of the cheer squad as well as both the boys’ and girls’ teams, and stop at the top of the key to throw Chris an alley-oop.

  He sails toward the basket, his muscles rippling as he reaches out, snatches the ball out of the air, transfers it from one hand to the other, and stuffs it through the rim. Magnificent.

  I remember the precise moment I fell in love with Christian Broder. It was this past October when a bunch of us decided to play a pick-up game at the courts down at Claymore Park. It was a warm day, and Chris took off his shirt. I vaguely wondered when he’d developed pecs. I tried to defend against him on a drive to the basket, but it seemed he’d gained six inches on me overnight. He swerved around, up, and past me, and … wham. His first dunk shot.

  It was perhaps the most beautiful move I’d ever seen on a basketball court. Or anywhere. Ever. I could barely breathe. Had to fake a cramp in my leg and take myself out of the game. Now, watching him soar through the air again, I have that same gut reaction. I struggle to pull myself together as he runs up and gives me a high-five.

  “Nice toss, Malloy.”

  “Nice tip in, Broder.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, right. Tip in. I hear you.” He drapes his arm across my shoulder. “I have a great feeling about this weekend.”

  I nod, unable to form words, and the rest of the pep rally swirls by in a whirlwind of pompoms and victory chants.

  Afterward, as I head toward the girls’ locker room trying to analyze whether Chris’s comment meant he had a good feeling about the tournament, the scouts, the Polar Plunge, or maybe—just maybe—us, Roland Briggs grabs my arm and pulls me to the edge of the hallway. “What was in that envelope?”

  “Envelope?” I feign ignorance, but I know exactly what he’s talking about. Abi collects all the money from my clients and delivers their payments to me every Friday morning behind the school’s recycling station. No idea how Briggs saw us, unless he followed her.

  “I saw Abi hand you an envelope this morning. What was in it?”

  I shake my head and stall. “Dude, you need to let her go.”

  “Did it have something to do with me? Or with another guy?”

  “What? No. The world does not revolve around you, Briggsy. Nor, for that matter, other guys.” I want to say, “Abi’s world doesn’t revolve around you,” but decide that would be too cruel. He does love her, in his own immature way.

  “Well then, what was it?”

  “It was nothing.” I pull my arm loose and start walking. “Get a life, would you?”

  He follows me. “Wait a minute. Of course.” He snaps his fingers. “It had something to do with the Boyfriend Whisperer, didn’t it?”

  I say nothing, but I must look guilty because Briggs’s eyes light up. “No way.” A huge grin spreads across his face. “I don’t believe it. You’ve hired the Boyfriend Whisperer, haven’t you?”

  I glance away. I’d rather him believe that than figure out the truth.

  “Oh, man. Who ever would have thought? Lexi Malloy is in love.” Briggs dances around me. “Who’s the lucky guy? Anyone I know?”

  “Shut up. This isn’t about me. This is about you, stalking Abi. It’s not attractive, and it’s not going to win her back.” I pause at the locker room door. “Listen. If you want to get back together with her, you need to treat her like a princess. Take her to dinner, buy her flowers, post sweet pictures of the two of you on Instagram. She loves that stuff.”

  Briggs raises his eyebrows. “How do you know? Are you and Abi suddenly best friends?”

  “Let’s just say I observed her enough while you two were together to figure out the type. Take it from me. If you want to catch your own rebound, you need to put yourself in position.” As I open the door and step inside, I leave him with one thought: “Lucky for you, Valentine’s Day is coming up.”

  I grab a seat at the back of the bus and spread out so no one will sit with me. Not that they’d want to. It’s not that my teammates don’t like me, or that I don’t like them. I do. They’re nice people. But I hate girl drama, and our team tends to have more drama than a Shakespearean tragedy. Last I heard, Keisha and Marty were fighting over some guy, and Paige, April, and Shauna were mad at Carmella because she said something to someone about some stupid thing I’m sure nobody even remembers anymore.

  When guys get pissed, they curse, call each other idiots, make suggestions about performing certain crude and anatomically impossible acts, and it’s over. They move on. Girls can hold grudges for entire seasons. Ain’t nobody got time for that, least of all me.

  I crank up Mumford & Sons on my iPod and pull up the Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises files on my tablet. With Valentine’s ten days away, I need to plot out some big moves for my clients.

  I start with Jolene. I watched Brendon staring at her this afternoon during the pep rally. He’s falling hard. No need to play it subtle. He likes spicy food, so Red Hots are an obvious choice, in a heart-shaped tin. What should the card say? Something super flirty. “Let’s heat it up on Valentine’s.” No … “spice it up.” I jot that down and move on to my next client.

  Just as I’m picking out a sweet YouTube link I want her to send her BF-to-be, Coach Reilly pulls my earbud out and scares me half to death.

  “Malloy! I’m talking to you. What are you working on?”

  I slam my tablet shut. “What? Homework. Sorry. What do you need?”

  She shoves my backpack to the floor and plops down beside me. “Let’s talk about tomorrow. We’re expecting scouts from all over. Rumor has it someone from U Conn might even turn up.”

  She pauses as if to gauge my reaction, so I force a smile. “U Conn? Wow. That’s great.”

  She leans in. “There’ll be a lot of buzz in that arena. Parents, coaches, other players. They’ll all be talking about the scouts and about you and your future. Here’s the thing: You need to ignore them.”

  “Ignore them.”

  “Exactly. You have one job tomorrow, and that’s to play the best game Alexis Malloy knows how to play. Run, pass, shoot, rebound. That’s it. The rest is static. Ignore the static.”

  “Got it. Static.”

  Coach furrows her brow. “You nervous?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  She pats my arm as she stands. “A little nervousness is good. You’ve got this, Malloy. You can do it.”

  I smile and slump back into my seat. The fact is, I’m not at all nervous. I only said that so she wouldn’t launch into a lecture about being too cocky. She’s forever vacillating between warning me not to be too nervous and not to be too cocky, when in reality, I’m neither. The truth is, when it comes to college scouts, I just wish they’d leave me alone.

  In my dream, I make shot after shot, but the scoreboard never budges. Jump shots, lay-ups, fades—all perfectly executed, yet worth nothing. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero. My parents and coaches and teammates all scream at me. Come on, Lexi! What’s wrong with you? Score some po
ints! We need points!

  I wake with a start, my chest tight as though a vise is squeezing my heart, my lungs, my ribs. I’m in a strange room, with strange noises. It takes me a moment to realize the room is at the Virginia Beach Sheraton, and the noises are Carmella’s snores. I moan, roll over, and pull the blanket over my head. Stupid dream. I’ve had it many times, over and over again, ever since I was little. But it always seems so real.

  By the time Chris and the rest of the Grand View boy’s team stroll into the arena, my team is up 46-28 with two minutes left on the clock. Seriously? They want us to stay tonight and cheer for their sorry butts, and they can’t even make it by halftime for our game?

  I know I should let it slide. No doubt they hit a bunch of traffic in Fredericksburg and had trouble checking into their rooms and yadda, yadda, yadda. But still.

  The other team calls a timeout, and we break toward the bench. I sneak a peek across the court at Chris, who smiles and waves and gives me a huge thumbs-up as he points toward the scoreboard. I turn back around and ignore him. Sixteen of those points were mine—one three-pointer, three free throws, and five two-point shots, not that I’m counting—and he missed them all.

  I score three more points before the final buzzer. As my teammates celebrate, I pull Coach aside. Somehow I need to get out of watching the afternoon games so I can do that stupid Polar Plunge. “I don’t feel well.”

  “You sure? You tore it up today.”

  “Thanks, Coach. But, yeah. It’s a stomach thing. Probably that garlic-and-onion bagel I ate this morning. Think I’ll go back to the hotel and take a nap.”

  Coach puts her hand to my forehead. “The U Conn scout might want to talk to you. You sure you can’t tough it out?”

  I feign disappointment as I clutch at my stomach. “It sucks. But I’m sure.”

  Before Coach can finish nodding, I’m out of there. I head back to my room to change and pack a bag with my swimsuit, wet shoes, and a towel. I brush my teeth three times—because garlic-and-onion bagel—and make my way downstairs for my secret rendezvous with Chris. As I enter the lobby, I gaze longingly at the fireplace. Why couldn’t it be that kind of secret rendezvous?

  “Lexi!” Chris is standing by the door, holding a huge canvas bag and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Ready to do this?”

  “Where’s Massey?”

  “He bailed. Coward.”

  I peer into his bag. Four towels and a wool blanket. Boy’s serious. “Nice of you to make it to our game this morning.”

  “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  I cross my arms. “You almost did.”

  Chris groans. “Right. Blame Briggsy for that. Slept through his alarm. We had to wait a half hour for his lazy butt. And of course, we got backed up in Fredericksburg.”

  “Of course.”

  “Hey.” Chris places his hand on my shoulder, sending a shiver through me. “You’re not mad, are you? I wanted to be there. You know I did.”

  “I know.” Part of me wants to push Chris away, and part of me wants to pull him close and kiss him. And for some reason that I cannot fathom, part of me wants to cry. I blink hard and try to ignore that part of me. “Did you know you’ve only missed six of my games since I started playing in the fourth grade? And that was usually because you had a game at the same time.”

  “I did not know that, but it doesn’t surprise me that you do.” Chris sighs. “What do you want me to say, Lexi? I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” And it is. For whatever reason, knowing that he knows that I know he missed most of this morning’s game and that I’m keeping track makes me feel better.

  Chris motions toward the front the door. “All right, then. Ready to take the plunge?”

  I steal one last yearning glance at the fireplace and sigh. “Sure. Let’s do this.”

  The beach is crowded. In February. We’re surrounded by people whose idea of a good time is taking an ice bath. Two guys, or maybe girls, wearing polar bear costumes give everyone high fives as they check in. There’s a huge medical station and a bunch of dudes who look like Navy SEALs meandering around in their dive suits. I imagine they’re supposed to make me feel safer, but safety isn’t really my top concern. I’m not so much worried about drowning as I am about FREEZING MY FREAKING BUTT OFF FOR NO APPARENT REASON.

  Excuse me. For a good cause.

  I head into the women’s changing tent and slip on my bathing suit. My legs are as white as the sand. Perhaps a shade lighter. Ugh. I huddle beside a heat fan for a few moments before going out to meet Chris.

  The pecs. Oh, my. I haven’t seen them in months. And now he has abs, too. As in, sweeter-than-Dew, six-pack abs. Holy cow. He runs up and grabs my hand, and for a moment I’m too stunned to move.

  “Come on,” he says. “The sooner we get in, the sooner we get out.”

  First sensible thing the boy has said all week. We take off and splash in up to our thighs. That’s when I falter. I can’t go any farther. The water is beyond freezing.

  “It’s not a Plunge until you plunge,” Chris shouts. He insists we go big or go home. Heads under.

  I rub my arms. “Cold. Cold. Cold.”

  “Come on, Lexi. You got this.” He dives into a wave.

  I can’t do it. I want to, but I can’t. Every inch of my body is rebelling.

  Chris surfaces about fifteen feet away and calls to me. “It’s not so bad once you’re in.”

  We both laugh. I used to say that to him at the pool all the time. He hated it. He was such a skinny kid, and kind of awkward. Who knew he’d grow up to become this hot, sexy, Polar Plunging dude?

  I take a deep breath—or as deep as my shivering body will allow—and dive into the next small wave. Holy cow. Freaking freezing.

  That’s it. Time to get out. I look around for Chris and see that he’s already halfway to shore. Guess he had the same idea.

  My legs plod slowly through the swirling water, despite the fact that my brain is shouting at them to hurry up. The air feels much, much colder now that I’m soaked, so I dip in up to my shoulders for “warmth.” All I can think about is that heat fan in the women’s changing tent. A wave knocks me back, and I try to regain my footing. As I struggle to propel my weakening legs forward, a group of about six middle-aged women holding hands rush toward me, squealing and laughing and blocking my way.

  Suddenly I’m sinking. I can’t feel my calves. I try to will them to move, but they seem somehow disconnected from the rest of my body. The instruction sheet they gave us at check-in said not to stay in the water for more than five minutes without a wet suit. It hasn’t been that long, has it?

  I look around for a diver, but can’t see past the gaggle of ladies splashing and screeching.

  “Help. I need some help.” My teeth are chattering so hard, and my body is shaking so much, I’m not sure whether I’m actually shouting the words or just thinking them. Not that anyone could hear me over these women.

  I wave at one of them, and she waves back. “Crazy, aren’t we?” She laughs and turns back to her friends.

  Wonderful. I try to swim toward shore, but my arms are so cold and stiff, they can’t compete with the small breakers swirling around me.

  I roll over to float on my back, but my legs are two dead weights pulling me down. I swallow a mouthful of saltwater, and that’s when panic sets in. I start to flail. Is it true that people go down three times before they drown? Did that count as my first time? Am I going to die at seventeen? Doing a stupid Polar Plunge? My parents will be so pissed. And I’ll never get to franchise the Boyfriend Whisperer. And I’ll never know what it’s like to kiss Chris. And—

  A violent wave startles me. I’m being pulled out to my death at sea. Only it’s not a wave. It’s Chris, and he’s pulling me up onto the beach. The parts of me that aren’t completely frozen thrill at the harsh scratch of sand.

  Chris wraps a towel around me, and a blanket. And himself. He rubs my ch
eeks with his hands. “Are you okay? Are you okay? Lexi, say something.”

  My teeth won’t stop chattering, and my lips won’t form actual words.

  “This was so stupid. What was I thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  I’ve never seen such fear in Chris’s eyes. He continues berating himself while feeling slowly returns to my extremities.

  Finally, I speak. “I’m okay.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Relief washes over his face as he tries to help me stand. “Come on. We need to get you to the medical station.”

  I shake my head. “We can’t do that. They’ll call our parents.” We’d get in so much trouble, especially Chris. His coach would no doubt bench him tonight, and he’d lose his chance to play in front of the scouts. My mouth isn’t quite able to articulate all that, so I simply say, “Coach Wallis will kill you.”

  He shakes his head. “So? I don’t care.”

  He should. This is his best chance of the year to impress the top teams in the region. “Let’s just hang here.” With your arms wrapped around me. I lean my face into his chest and close my eyes as he rubs my arms and back.

  “Lexi, I shouldn’t have made you do this. I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay, seriously. It was fun. Or at least … different. And I’m fine.”

  He tilts my face toward his. “You scared me half to death; you know that? Are you sure you don’t want to get checked out by the EMTs?”

  I shake my head. “Not necessary.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing.”

  “How can I make it up to you? Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  I rest my head on his chest. I can’t tell him what I really want, so I name the next best thing. “Hot chocolate.”