“For real?” I look up at him and so does mom.
“Absolutely. College is so expensive these days. Who wants to be saddled with a huge mountain of student loan debt?”
“Well, that’s true.” Mom nods in agreement and flashes a huge smile. “Thank goodness we don’t have to worry about that. You keep up with your basketball, Alexis, and we’ll be fine. You’re blessed, you know. Truly blessed.”
I shove a fork full of rice into my mouth. Bless this mess.
F Hall is empty, as usual, but I bend down and fake-tie my shoelace to listen for footsteps. Once I’m satisfied no one is coming, I slip into the janitor’s closet.
Abi is sitting on a footstool playing with a strand of hair she’s dyed turquoise.
“Pretty color.” I try to sound perky, or at least normal. Or at least not like I wish the world would end tomorrow.
“Here’s the thing.” She stands and sticks her finger in my face. “I’ve been trying to quit this stupid job for at least a month now. We’ve had a great run, but as they say, all good things must come to an end. Let’s call it a day, announce the end of Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises, and move on.”
“Abi, we’ve been through this—”
“Yes, we have. But now you want out, too. Admit it.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why do you say that?”
“Oh, come on. I know a crush when I see one. And Lindsay LaRouche is a total La-Douche. Time to close up shop and throw away her stupid application.”
Part of me is mortified that my crush on Chris has been so obvious, but a bigger part is touched that Abi wants to help. Still, I shake my head. I spent all night and all morning thinking about this, and I’ve made my decision. “I’m going to whisper him. For her.”
“What?” Abi stomps one of her six-inch Espadrille wedges hard on the floor. “Are you insane? It’s not worth it. For a hundred twenty-five dollars?”
“A hundred once I give you your cut,” I remind her. “And yes, it’s worth it. This is a business—my business. And my policy is to accept all reasonable applications. That’s more important than any silly crush.”
Abi shakes her head. “I can’t believe you, Miss Love-Is-But-a-Whisper-Away. Give me a freaking break. I’m not going to let you do this.”
“It’s not up to you. I’m doing it. Whether you’re in or out makes no difference. Conversation over.”
She stares at me in silence for a moment and then shrugs. “Fine. Suit yourself. But you have a lot to learn about love.” She storms out of the closet, slamming the door behind her.
I ease myself onto the step stool, blinking back the tears that have been threatening all day. Abi’s right. This pain isn’t worth $100, or any amount of money, really. But it’s not about money. It’s about Chris.
Over and over last night, I replayed in my mind the way he acted around Lindsay in Virginia Beach. The stammering, the awkwardness. I’ve seen those symptoms in half the guys I’ve whispered. Chris likes Lindsay, plain and simple. He likes Lindsay and not me. He doesn’t even think of me as a girl, for crying out loud. Am I happy about it? No. Is there anything I can do about it? Well, yes. I can set him up. Because it would make him happy. Because he’s my friend, and that’s what friends do.
At least, that’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself. I bury my head in my hands and let the tears fall.
I point to the strand of copper wire lying on the chem lab table in front of Chris. “That one’s next.”
As he hands it to me, our fingers touch briefly, and I feel a tingle of electricity. I glance sideways at him. Was it just me, or did he feel it, too? Copper is a strong conductor, after all. My gaze shifts across the room to Lindsay’s table, and I remind myself that Chris is off limits now. Last night, I officially accepted the job of whispering him and emailed her my first set of instructions. She should be sauntering over here any minute to carry them out.
“I’m secretly hoping the coconut water has the most electrolytes,” Chris says.
I blink. “What? You can’t root for the coconut water. Our hypothesis is that the Gatorade will win.”
He laughs. “It’s not a contest, Lexi. It’s an experiment.” He raises his voice. “And disproving a hypothesis is as valuable to scientific research as proving it, isn’t that right Ms. Gupta?”
“That is correct, Christian. A hypothesis is an educated guess. There would be no point in conducting the experiment if there weren’t a chance your guess could be wrong.”
I raise my eyebrows at Chris. “Well, my hypothesis is that I’m going to double-check your results sheet to make sure you don’t cheat.”
“And my hypothesis is that you’d double check my results sheet anyway.”
“Touché. Here, hold this for me.” I hand Chris a pen cap and start wrapping the copper around it. “So now I’m going to triple-check them. The coconut water? Seriously? You’re a traitor.”
Chris shrugs. “I like coconut water better than Gatorade. So shoot me.”
I aim my finger at him and pull the trigger.
“Whoa, am I interrupting something?” Lindsay appears at his side. “You look like you’re ready to go evil on Chris’s ass.”
I assume she means medieval, but I refrain from correcting her and transform my scowl into a smile. “No, no. A mild flesh wound to the shoulder would suffice.”
But Lindsay has already moved on and is ignoring me. She has her hand wrapped around Chris’s bicep. “Can you help us with something? Allison and I are trying to figure out how to measure the pH of lemonade, but we can’t figure out how to read the results.”
Chris nods toward the pen cap still in his hand. “Um. Well, we’re kind of in the middle of—”
“Go.” I grab the cap from him. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.” I resist the urge to wink at Lindsay. Sometimes pretending I have no idea what’s going on when in fact I’ve orchestrated the entire scene is the hardest part of being the Boyfriend Whisperer. I hate that Lindsay thinks I’m oblivious right now. Especially when this plan was such a stroke of genius.
I watch as she and Allison huddle on either side of Chris and explain their lemonade dilemma. My aborted email to Jolene the other night gave me the idea. The two of them are secretly testing whether wearing perfume with pheromones makes guys more attentive. Assuming they followed my instructions, Lindsay should be wearing the perfume and Allison should be wearing nothing more than a splash of lavender water.
As experiments go, it’s horrible, actually, because Allison isn’t the greatest control. She’s plainer than Lindsay and a bit of a spaz. But, hey, I’m guaranteeing a boyfriend here, not a chem grade.
Whether to my satisfaction or dismay—I can’t decide—the experiment appears to be working. Chris is leaning much closer to Lindsay as he explains how to read the litmus strips. Boy is brilliant at chemistry, and I have to say, listening to him talk about hydrogen ions over there is pretty sexy. Or would be if he weren’t a mark for one of my clients, which he is. In fact, he appears to be a very willing mark, which means it’s entirely possible that my goal of getting the two of them together in time for Valentine’s, which is only four days away, is not entirely unrealistic, and isn’t that a cheering thought?
My fingers reach the end of the wire, snapping me back to the task at hand. Shoot. I’ve wrapped way too much around this stupid pen cap.
“Is that what you want to do to me?” Chris slides back onto his stool and points to the tangle of wire as I begin unraveling it.
“What do you mean?”
“Strangle me? Listen, Lexi, if it makes you feel any better, I’m good either way. Coconut water or Gatorade. It’s no big—”
“What? No. That’s not it.”
He looks from my face to the pen cap and back, clearly skeptical. “Then what?”
“It’s … It’s nothing. I read the instructions wrong; that’s all. I thought I was supposed to wrap the whole thing around. Anyway, nev
er mind me. What’s up with those two?” I nod toward Lindsay and Allison.
Chris shrugs and lowers his voice. “No idea. Apparently, they’re trying to measure the acidity of a bunch of different liquids, but when I asked them about it, neither of them could tell me what the point is or what they’re trying to prove. I don’t think they know what they’re doing.”
I steal another glance at Lindsay with her meticulously applied lipstick, her short-short jean skirt, and her too-tight top. She smiles, gives Chris a breezy wave, and mouths, “Thank you.”
Au contraire, mon frère. That chick knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Nice break.” I size up the table and decide to take stripes. I bend down, pointing my cue stick at the nine-ball. “Left corner pocket.”
Chris gives a low whistle. It’s a high-risk shot, but I don’t feel like playing it safe today. It’s Saturday, and I’ve invited myself over to his house for the afternoon. I need to work fast if I’m going to set Lindsay and him up by Valentine’s. He didn’t stick around after chem to talk to her on Thursday and pretty much ignored her during class on Friday. I have no idea whether pheromone perfume actually works, but if it does, its effects on teen boys seem to be temporary. Time to grit my teeth and rip off this nasty Band-Aid.
I sink the nine-ball and head over to the other side of the table to attempt a bank shot on the twelve-ball. “Hard to believe it’s mid-February already,” I say.
“No way you make that shot.”
“What?”
“The bank. It’s too tight.”
“Watch me.”
He’s right. I miss by a mile. Oh, well, it was worth a try. I step back and let him puzzle out how to tackle the solids. “So, like I was saying, hard to believe it’s February twelfth already. Seems like New Year’s was just yesterday.”
Chris points his cue at the right side pocket. “Three-ball.” He crouches down and assesses the angle. “Are you proposing what I think you’re proposing?”
“Depends on what you think I’m proposing.”
“Chuck. Time for another marathon.”
I smile. We watched the first two seasons over New Year’s. “Well, we do need to watch season three before I forget what happened, but that’s not—”
The doorbell rings, causing Chris to pull up short on his shot and miss. “Dammit. If you win, this game will have an asterisk next to it.”
“When I win.” I check the clock on the microwave. Abi is right on time. While he runs upstairs to answer the door, I grab an iced tea out of the fridge and perch on a stool at the wet bar. You’ve got this, Lexi. All is going according to plan. Hang in there.
“What the—” Chris appears on the staircase carrying a tiny teddy bear dressed in a Bulls t-shirt and holding a bag of candy hearts. “Someone left this on the porch.”
“Cute. What’s the card say?”
He tears open the envelope. “To Chris. Happy Valentine’s from your Secret Admirer.” He turns it around and around in his hands. “Weird.”
The bear is way more obvious than my usual opening play, but (a) I’m trying to fast track this stupid thing, (b) Chris isn’t into playing a bunch of head games, and (c) I’m thinking when it comes to crushes, the boy needs to be whacked over the head with a nine iron. Subtlety won’t do.
“Who do you think it’s from?” I ask.
“No idea.”
“Oh, come on. You have to have some clue. Surely you’ve noticed someone acting differently around you lately? Flirting?” Practically assaulting you on the couch in Virginia Beach? Hanging onto your every word in chemistry class?
Chris shakes his head. “Not really.”
“You’re sure? Think about it.”
He shrugs. “I mean, obviously, it could be any number of girls attracted to my incredible physique and boyish good looks, not to mention my charming personality.”
“And your sense of modesty.”
“That too.” Chris laughs—a soft, sweet laugh that sends a thousand daggers through my heart. “Honestly, I have no idea who it could be.”
“Well, Valentine’s is Monday. You’d better figure it out quick.”
He sets the bear next to me on the wet bar and steps back to admire it. “Whoever it is knows I like the Bulls. That’s a good start.”
“Must be someone special.” My voice breaks, but I force a smile.
Chris sits down next to me. “What should I do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never had a secret admirer. What am I supposed to do?”
“Well.” I stroke the bear’s ear. It’s as soft as a cotton ball. “You should figure out who she is and do something nice for her. Bring her flowers or balloons or something on Monday.”
“But what if it’s someone I don’t like?”
I hop down off the stool and walk over to the pool table. “What if it’s someone you do? You don’t want to miss your chance.”
Love doesn’t come around every day. My eyes cloud over as I stare down at the shiny black eight-ball. I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I? This is all going to work out fine?
I could almost swear it answers me: Signs point to heartache ahead.
The fragrance of love permeates the halls Monday morning. Between the girls wearing fancy perfumes and the guys bearing bouquets, it’s enough to make even the most cynical person smile. Or perhaps gag. Half of me wants to commandeer the school P.A. system and announce that I, Lexi Malloy, am to thank for most of these lovebirds’ newfound bliss. The other half fantasizes about finding the world’s largest bulldozer and flattening the whole freaking school with everyone in it. Love-schmov.
Even I have to admire the scene that plays out in second period study hall, though. Jolene happens to sit three rows to my left, and about five minutes after the bell, someone knocks on our classroom door. Mr. Ingersoll opens it to find a bald guy in a huge heart-shaped costume standing there.
“Singing telegram!” he says. Or rather, sings. He charges around Mr. Ingersoll and into the classroom, stopping at Jolene’s desk. “Jolene Cinders?”
“Um. Yes?” Jolene looks as though she wishes the earth would open up and swallow her. The rest of the class is too astounded to say or do anything.
Heart dude gets down on one knee and places his hands over where … well, where the heart’s heart would be, I guess, and starts to croon.
There is a young girl at Grand View
Who seems almost too good to be true.
Her taste in music and movies and fashion
Ignites in Brendon McDonough a passion
As no one else ever could do.
Yes, there is a young girl at Grand View
Whose smile could light up a room.
She’s hot as a jalapeño.
So hot, it’s insane, yo.
Tell me, what is a young man to do?
Oh, there is a young girl at Grand View
And Jolene, that young girl is you.
On this Feast of St. Valentine
Would you be ever so kind?
Please accept Brendon’s love, pure and true.
Seemingly from nowhere, he pulls out a huge stuffed puppy with a pink candy heart sticking out of its mouth and hands it to a gaping Jolene.
Aww. The whole class bursts into applause. Some of the supposedly tough guys in the room look around at each other, but they must be too stunned to play rude. Or perhaps even they have been bitten by the Valentine’s bug.
The whole thing is almost enough to make me reconsider my sour mood toward the ultimate Hallmark holiday. Almost.
Lindsay LaRouche’s locker sits just around the corner from mine, which is good because every chance I get, I pass by, seeking a sign that Chris has taken my Boyfriend Whisperer bait. A balloon tied to the handle, a love note stuck in one of the vents, but there’s nothing. A few times I catch Lindsay there, and she looks as miserable as though she just found out her favorite ha
ir gel has been discontinued.
Maybe the secret admirer stunt was too subtle after all. Dammit. I really, truly, and seriously do not wish to spend the next three weeks trying to set the two of them up.
After the last bell, I grab my books and round the corner for one last check, hoping that maybe Chris was just playing it cool, waiting until the end of the day to make his move. That would be so Chris. But no, I find Lindsay alone and utterly Valentine-less, glaring into the recesses of her locker. I turn to leave before she catches me staring, only to run smack into someone’s chest.
“Uh, hey, Lexi.” Chris’s face is as red as the dozen roses he’s holding. It is perhaps the loveliest arrangement I have ever seen, right down to the baby’s breath that seems to float among the blooms. Who knew the boy had such great taste in flowers?
“Hey there.” I have to steady myself, whether because of the encounter with his chest, the perfume of the roses, or the realization that Operation Chris and Lindsay is finally about to go down, I’m not sure.
“So, I kind of um …” Chris swallows hard. “I mean, it took me a while, but I think I figured out who my secret admirer is.”
“Yeah?” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “That’s awesome. Pretty flowers, by the way.”
“You like them?”
“Very much.” I step aside. “I’m sure she will, too.”
Chris tilts his head. “What do you—”
“Oh my gosh, those are amaaaazing.” Lindsay appears beside me, arms outstretched. “Are they for me?”
Chris looks at me, so I force a smile, nod, and give him the thumbs-up. Way to go. Now excuse me while I disappear to wallow in my pitiful, lonely, loveless existence.
I turn and take off, hurtling down the hallway and through the front door without looking back. Yay, me. Another Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises success story.
With the Valentine’s rush over, Abi has no applications for me Tuesday morning, which is fortunate because I’m not in a matchmaking mood. Besides, I’ll be swamped with basketball practice this week. We’re headed to the state championship game on Saturday. It’s kind of a big deal.
The Boyfriend Whisperer Page 5