The Boyfriend Whisperer

by Linda Budzinski

  Sure enough, she’s standing just inside the door, tapping her foot. “Do you even care that I’m going to be late to P.E.? One more after this and Mr. Hawk will give me detention.”

  “Sorry, but Lindsay cornered me on my way over here. She wants me to go bowling with her and Chris Saturday.” I shudder.

  “Bowling? What’s that about?”

  “I have no idea. It’s not important. Why did you need to see me?”

  “You’d better be careful with that girl, Lexi. She’s a total wench. I don’t trust her.”

  I give Abi a weak smile. If I weren’t her boss, and if we weren’t so different, she’d be a great person to have as a friend. “It’s just bowling. And actually, Lindsay has been nothing but nice to me. I can’t point to a single reason to hate her. Other than the obvious. If anything, I’m the one who’s been the wench.”

  “Oh, please. ‘Nice’ is not in Lindsay’s wheelhouse. She’s playing you. If there were such a thing as frequent liar miles, that girl would have been to Saturn and back.” Abi swipes at her phone and checks the time. “Dammit. I really need to go. I just wanted to warn you that I’ve been hearing some rumblings.”

  “Rumblings?”

  “Yeah. Apparently a whole group of girls from the volleyball team are pissed at you … at the Boyfriend Whisperer. Something about Jenna Matthews dating one of their brothers and then totally cheating on him.”

  “What? I’m supposed to police my clients? And anyway, who the heck is Jenna Matthews? She wasn’t even a client.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They think she was. They’re on a mission to out you.”

  “Well, tell them she wasn’t our client. Tell them I’ve never heard of her.”

  Abi tilts her head. “Like they’ll believe me. They know I’d never betray the client-whisperer privilege.” The bell rings, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “Great. The things I do for this stupid job.”

  I give her a quick hug. “You’re the best, Abi. And don’t worry about the rumblings. It’ll blow over.”

  Boy’s got form. I can’t help but admire it as Chris sends the ball sailing down the alley for his fourth strike of the morning. Unbelievable. The last time we bowled was about two years ago, and he was lucky to get a spare or two. Now he’s hefting around a sixteen-pound ball and knocking down the pins like a pro.

  The Leesburg alley is brand new—one of those super-fancy spots with glow-in-the-dark balls, neon blue light strips lining the gutters, and giant screens playing sports at the other end of the lanes. We’re sipping on fancy juice smoothies and munching on pita bread with hummus as we play. Part of me longs for the scuffed-up floorboards and overcooked hot dogs of our old alley. Back in the day, Chris and I spent hours messing around on the lanes and in the arcade room, and I never gave a single thought to his stupid form.

  “Have you been secretly practicing?” I ask as we bump fists.

  “If you count the Wii. It’s all about the follow through.” He pulls a super-serious face and demonstrates his arm motion.

  Lindsay wraps her arm around Chris’s waist. “What can’t this guy do?” She beams as she gazes up at him. “I’m a lucky girl, Chris Broder.”

  Yes. Yes, you are.

  She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, so I turn away and hold my already bone-dry hands over the ball-return hand dryer. Never mind me. Just a third wheel spinning uselessly over here.

  “You’re up, Lexi.” Chris scoots toward the lobby. “I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

  Lindsay and I watch as he lopes off.

  “Does he seem different to you this morning?” Lindsay asks.

  “What?”

  “Does Chris seem any different?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Why?”

  Lindsay gives me a sly smile. “It took him forever, but he finally made a move last night.”

  “Oh?” Half of me wants to run screaming from this conversation, but the other half needs to know exactly what “move” she’s referring to. A look-different-the-next-morning move sounds … ugh. On the other hand, I don’t think I want to know.

  “He was amazing. Truly.” Lindsay’s eyes are practically the size of the bowling balls, and her conspiratorial smile leaves little doubt as to what she’s talking about.

  “Wow … that’s …” I try to sound casual, to hide the funhouse of images and emotions tumbling around inside me. Breathe, Lexi.

  Lindsay lays her hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  She gives me a hug. “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

  I grab a ball and turn away. I do not want to be this girl’s friend, cannot be her friend, if it means she plans to confide in me about girl things. Not when she’s dating Chris. No way. No, sir. No, thank you.

  I must have picked up Chris’s ball, because when I sling my arm back, it feels like—well, like a really heavy bowling ball—and I barely succeed in bringing it forward. It slams onto the floor and crashes straight into the gutter. Awesome. Tears spring to my eyes, so I watch the ball make its excruciatingly slow trip to the end of the lane and into the abyss as I try to blink them away.

  “You might want to go back to the eleven pounder.” Chris has come up behind us.

  I swivel around. “You think?” It comes out as a bit of a shriek.

  “Whoa. Just a suggestion.” He eyes me warily. “You okay?”

  I grit my teeth. “Actually, no. I don’t feel well.” I’m not angry, really. More … shaken. Chris apparently has done something with a girl that I’ve never even come close to doing with a guy. My Chris. My best friend, who wouldn’t even try the high dive at the pool or the Intimidator Coaster at King’s Dominion without me beside him, encouraging him. Not that I would have wanted to be beside him last night, obviously, but … crap. “I think I’m going to head out.”

  Chris walks toward me, concern in his eyes. “You do seem a little pale. You all right to drive? Because I could drive you home in your car and Lindsay can follow in mine.”

  Lindsay appears at his side. “That’s nice of you, Chris, but I can’t drive a stick.”

  “Apparently, you can.” I blurt this without thinking.

  Lindsay bursts into giggles, and Chris glances back and forth between us. “What?”

  “Nothing. Listen, I’ll be fine. You guys finish my game.” I force a smile, but on the way out, I stop in the ladies’ room. The hummus wasn’t that great going down, but it’s positively disgusting coming back up.

  For the next week, I avoid Chris and Lindsay as much as possible. I fake a headache and spend Tuesday afternoon in the nurse’s office to get out of chem lab. I can’t deal. I really can’t. But Friday is an A Day, and I know I have to face them eventually, so I force myself to walk into the cafeteria and sit at their table.

  Dammit. When did I start thinking of it as their table?

  “There she is.” Chris’s smile is almost enough to lift my sour mood.

  “Where do you stand on matching ties?” Lindsay accosts me before I can even set down my tray.

  Chris widens his eyes and shakes his head, and she slaps his chest. “No signaling.”

  I look from one to the other. “Matching ties? What kinds of ties, and what are they supposed to match?”

  Massey groans. Apparently, he’s had enough of whatever conversation I’ve walked into.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Lindsay laughs and waves her hands around in an apology. “We were having a discussion about prom. I bought a red dress. Should Chris or should Chris not wear a matching red tie?”

  “Um. I don’t know. I guess I’ve never really given ties much thought.” I want to ask, what difference does it make since the two of you will no doubt tear off your stupid red dress and your tux and make mad, passionate love halfway through the night anyway? But I refrain. Instead, I mumble, “He should wear whatever looks best on him, I suppose.”

  Lindsay pouts. “You’re no fun.” She
leans across the table and lowers her voice. “So, who are you going to prom with?”

  Massey snorts, and I shoot him a dirty look. Is it so unthinkable that I would go to prom with someone? I shrug and bite into my slice of pepperoni pizza. “I dunno.”

  “Okay. Let me ask it this way: Who do you want to go with? Who do you like?”

  My face grows warm. Despite the fact that I am very specifically not looking at Chris, I can feel him staring at me. My throat closes up, and I have to force the pizza down. I roll my eyes and try to assume a casual tone. “This is why I tend to hang out with guys instead of girls. Not a single boy has ever asked me that question.” I smile coyly. “Maybe there’s someone. Maybe not.”

  Massey slams down his empty soda can, crushing it against his tray. “Enough about prom. Let’s talk about after prom. Party at Briggsy’s. It’s going to be massive. He’s getting a band and everything.”

  Hmm. Much as I’d like to continue to steer away from the topic of prom rather than back toward it, I can’t help but ask. “Who’s Briggs going with?”

  Massey shakes his head. “As of right now, no one. He’s still hung up on that little snot, Abi.”

  “What? Abi’s not a snot. She’s a sweetheart. Briggsy’s the one who—” Oops. All three of them are staring at me.

  “Since when are you and Abi so tight?” Massey asks.

  “We’re not. I just … when she and Briggsy were together, we hung out sometimes. She’s nice. And you have to admit he can be kind of a jerk, what with all of his extracurricular flirting.”

  Massey shakes his head. “That’s the problem with you girls. If a guy pays too much attention, you complain he’s smothering you, but if he so much as looks at another girl, you call him a jerk. We can’t win.”

  “Oh, please.” Lindsay points a celery stick at him. “We’re not that complicated. Guys simply don’t make an effort to figure out what we want.” She grins up at Chris. “Except for you. You’re perfect.” She gives him a quick kiss. “And feel free to smother me, by the way. I’m all about being smothered with attention.”

  I toss my pizza crust onto my tray. This was a mistake. The two of them are like nails on a chalkboard. Every time they touch I want to scream. And the thought of them together—together together—turns my stomach. I need to get out of here. I pull out my phone and pretend to check my texts. I hold it up and nod vaguely toward the door. “Coach Reilly needs to see me. I should—”

  “It’s Jerod, isn’t it?” Chris’s eyes bore through me. He’s sitting with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his back slumped casually against his chair, but I can hear the tap, tap, tap of his left foot beneath the table.

  “What?” I gesture again toward my phone. “I just told you. It’s Coach Reilly.”

  “Not that.” He leans forward and rests his arms on the table, his expression serious. “You said you liked someone. Jerod.”

  “I said maybe I liked someone, and …” I tug at my ponytail, flustered. “And it’s really none of your business who that is.”

  “It’s my business if it’s Jerod.”

  “What? Why? Why would you possibly care if I liked Jerod?”

  Chris glances away. “I don’t want you to get hurt; that’s all.”

  Too late for that.

  “How exactly would I get hurt by liking Jerod? Speaking theoretically, of course.”

  Chris’s lips twitch, and he still won’t meet my eyes. “Just be careful.”

  There’s something he’s not telling me. Half of me is dying to know what that is, but the other half decides I’m being silly because I do not, in fact, like Jerod. As I push back my chair and grab my books, Lindsay leans over and gives Chris another kiss. And another. I clench my teeth.

  Wonder how Jerod feels about matching ties? Speaking theoretically, of course.

  I fake to the left and dribble to the right, around my opponent, unobstructed to the basket. It’s a gorgeous layup, off the board and through the hoop. For zero points. Come on, Lexi! We need points!

  “Come on, Lexi.” Mom reaches back from the front seat of the Land Cruiser and shakes my leg. “We’re here. We’re at the campus. You okay?”

  I gasp and clutch at my seatbelt, struggling to breathe. “I’m fine,” I say finally. “Bad dream. Annoying dream.”

  This is my first college visit—to Virginia Tech, in the middle of nowhere in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Why in the world would anyone put a university out here? I’m filled with a vague sense of dread as we rumble past a huge “Home of the Hokies” sign outside the football stadium and pull into a spot by a massive indoor arena. What the heck is a Hokie, anyway?

  Dad grins at me in the rearview mirror. “Ready for this?”

  I shrug. Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.

  “Now, now. How about some enthusiasm?” Mom is smiling, but her tone is sharp. “Tech has made you a very generous offer. I expect you to show some gratitude.”

  I nod and force a smile. She’s right, of course. Tech is an awesome school, and lots of kids would kill to be in my place. But knowing I’m acting like an ungrateful brat doesn’t make me feel any better. It also doesn’t make me feel any more grateful or any less bratty. I don’t want to be here, staring down a path to four more years of scorecards and stat sheets. The tightness in my chest intensifies.

  The assistant coach who greets us is sweet, bordering on perky. “Laurel Jackson. You can call me Laurel.” My dad doffs his Wizards cap at her. In case she missed it.

  Laurel leads us straight into the arena, and my heart skips a beat in spite of myself. It’s enormous. Two guys are jumping rope at the far end, and the tappity-tap of their feet and the hard plastic ropes echo through the cavernous space.

  “This is where all the magic happens.” Laurel makes a wide, sweeping motion. “Cassell Coliseum seats a little over ten thousand people—not that the women’s games fill it up, but …” she gives me a hopeful smile. “If we can win a championship or two, we could probably come close.”

  A door slams behind us and three girls walk in.

  “Ah, look who it is.” Laurel ratchets up from cheerful to positively beaming. “Here’s someone you might remember.”

  One of the girls does seem familiar, and as she comes closer, I recognize her. Of course, Madeleine. I forgot she came here. We played together at Grand View. We rarely spoke off the court, because (a) she was a senior, and even though I was a varsity starter, I was still a lowly freshman, and (b) she was a heck of a lot more popular than me, always talking about parties and guys and crazy weekends at the beach and stuff I know almost nothing about even to this day.

  Why do adults assume that kids who went to school together are all friends? Don’t they remember what it was really like? Based on my Veronica Mars binge watching, I’m thinking things haven’t changed that much since Lauren was my age. Does graduating somehow wipe clean those memories?

  “Hey, Lexi. Good to see you.” Madeleine gives me a quick hug. “This is Jolene Renner and LaMaurianna Watson.”

  “Everyone calls me Mo,” LaMaurianna says. She glances at Lauren, who gives her a nod. “We have something for you.” She pulls out from behind her back a Tech t-shirt. It’s orange and maroon and has my name on the back with the number eleven—the same as my high school number.

  “Oh my gosh, that’s so nice.” I take it and hold it up for size. “I can’t believe you did this. You shouldn’t have.”

  They really shouldn’t have. I don’t deserve this. This whole visit is basically me barreling down a track to nowhere because I don’t know how to stop the train.

  All three girls—even Madeleine—give me genuine smiles that make me feel even worse. “Hope to see you here next year,” Jolene says.

  “We gotta run, but Coach will give you my email address if you need anything,” Madeleine says. She gives me another hug before they take off.

  Lauren grins. “Ready for the tour?” She
takes us around and shows us the Coliseum and then leads us to a whole other building they use just for practice. She takes us through the workout rooms, the locker rooms, and a classroom set up to watch film. My mom’s eyes shine, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. Watching video of my every shot would be so much more thorough than simply recording them on stat sheets. Yay.

  Finally, we wind up outside the head coach’s office, and Lauren checks her Fitbit. “We’re a few minutes early to meet with Coach. Can I get you anything? Do you have any questions?”

  “What’s a Hokie?”

  “Lexi.” My mom shakes her head.

  “It’s a legit question.”

  Lauren laughs. “The name comes from an old fight song. But Hokie is actually a type of stone. You’ll see it in a lot of the buildings on campus.”

  “A stone?” I raise my eyebrows and nod. “Interesting.” It’s not. It’s the most boring thing in the history of things.

  A door behind Lauren opens and Coach steps into the room. I’ve seen him on TV, but he looks even bigger in person. “Alexis?” He shakes my hand.

  “Lexi.”

  “Of course.” He offers a sweeping wave, urging my parents and me into the room. “Let’s chat.”

  Coach gets right to the point, explaining what he wants to accomplish with his team for the next few years and how he plans to get there. “I know you play forward now, but we’d need you as a point guard.”

  “Oh?” My stomach does a little twirl. “Interesting.” This time, I mean it, though I kind of wish I didn’t. Changing to point guard would be a challenge, and I have to admit I rather like the idea of directing the offense. If I decide to play.

  Coach leans forward. “Lexi, you’ve received our scholarship offer. I don’t expect you to make a decision on the spot, but if you commit within the next sixty days, that scholarship will be guaranteed for your four years here at Virginia Tech, even if, God forbid, you injure yourself during your senior year of high school and can’t play a single game.”

  “Wow. Thank you.”

  “That’s wonderful,” my mom says, and Dad nods in agreement.