The Boyfriend Whisperer

by Linda Budzinski

  “What if I suck?”

  “Excuse me?” Coach appears startled. “I don’t believe I—”

  I feel my mom’s eyes shooting darts, but I can’t help myself. “What if I stay healthy, but I suddenly start to suck? Say I lose my touch and my three-point percentage drops way down—what then? Or what if I decide to quit basketball altogether?”

  “Well …” Coach shuffles a small stack of papers on his desk and shifts in his chair. “The scholarship is contingent on you playing as long as you’re healthy, but I can’t imagine with your demonstrated skill sets that you’d—”

  “I apologize, Coach.” Mom lays her hand on my arm and presses down hard. “Lexi’s a bit nervous about all of this. It’s a big step. And she’s prone to thinking about worst-case scenarios.”

  I want to point out that neither losing my touch at basketball nor deciding to hang up my high-tops would be the worst-case scenario. Did she not hear Coach just pose the possibility of a career-ending injury? Surely that would be worse. But the look in her eyes tells me not to go there, so I bite back my words, take the deepest breath I can given the fact that my chest once again feels as though a sumo wrestler has plopped down on top of it, and offer what I hope passes for an apologetic smile.

  Chris slides onto the stool next to me and tosses his chemistry book on the table. “Congrats.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not over yet.” I’m in first place in our March Madness pool, but there are still a few games to go, and Briggsy is right behind me.

  “It is for me. I should never have picked North Carolina. They didn’t have a chance.”

  “Yes, well.” I give him my sorry-not-sorry look. “I tell you every year to take emotion out of it. Sentimentality is for losers. You’re supposed to pick who you think will win, not who you wish would win.” I cough into my hand. “Coconut water.”

  Chris laughs and punches my arm. It’s a light punch, not intended to hurt, but I recoil from it. Knowing what he and Lindsay have been up to makes physical contact with him unbearable. Is he in love with her? I mean, obviously he really, really likes her if they’re doing that, but does he love her? Part of me doesn’t want to know, but part of me needs to find out.

  Just before the bell rings, Lindsay rushes in. She pauses and gives Chris a kiss on the cheek before flitting off to her lab table.

  I lean in and whisper. “So, you two are getting pretty serious, huh?”

  Chris shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re practically attached at the hip. And I see the way she looks at you.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  I sigh. “Chris, I’m your best friend.” It kills me to say it, but I force myself. “If you’re falling in love with her, you can tell me. That’s the kind of thing friends tell each other.”

  His face registers somewhere between confusion and amusement. “Falling in love? Now who’s being sentimental?” He shakes his head. “She’s a great girl, and I like her and all, but … love? Huh uh.”

  Ms. Gupta appears at our table. “Chris? Lexi? I apologize for interrupting your very important conversation, but in case you’ve failed to notice, I am trying to call the class to order. Perhaps there is something you would like to share?”

  Giggles erupt from behind us, and I bite at the inside of my lip. Chris shakes his head, sending Ms. Gupta away.

  This was, in fact, a very important conversation—important and disturbing. Could he really mean what he just said? A great girl. Seriously?

  “Actually, I do have something I’d like to share.” I stand, ignoring the alarm in Chris’s eyes.

  Ms. Gupta regards me warily. “Yes?”

  “It’s … it’s something I noticed last night. My dad was making shepherd’s pie for dinner, and I was helping him. You know, peeling the potatoes and mashing them.”

  Everyone is staring at me as though I’m crazy. Which clearly I am. Ms. Gupta nods. “I see. And what did you notice?”

  “Well, he put it in the oven to bake, and it was supposed to take forty minutes, but I was starving, so I jacked up the temperature, figuring it would cook faster. Only it didn’t. It just burnt the top. The meat was practically raw.”

  Jason Marks snickers and puts on his best Soup Nazi accent. “No shepherd’s pie for you!”

  “Exactly.” I point at him. “And my dad was really ticked off.”

  Jason rolls his eyes. “What’s your point, Malloy?”

  “The point is, sometimes if you rush things, you can do more harm than good. The potatoes couldn’t handle all that heat, and they paid the price. It would have been better to go slow so the insides could catch up with the outside. I mean … if the inside isn’t ready, you need to let it cook longer until it is. Don’t go cranking up the heat.”

  Ms. Gupta knits her eyebrows together. “Are we still talking about food?”

  “Um. Yes.” I sit back down and glance at Chris, who appears completely mystified. “This was a true story. True and tragic. And a waste of a perfectly good shepherd’s pie.”

  “I see.” Ms. Gupta points her stylus at me. “So tell me, Lexi. Why did the potatoes burn while the meat did not cook?”

  “It’s like I said. I turned the temperature too high.”

  “Yes? And?”

  I glance around, hoping for some help from my classmates, but I’m the one who started this thing, and they seem to have no interest in bailing me out. “Because … heat … and … chemistry?”

  Ms. Gupta sighs and launches into a lecture about moisture and dryness and something called the Maillard reaction while I concentrate on breathing and not throttling Chris’s neck. When class ends, I grab my stuff and dart toward the door.

  “Hey.” Chris follows right behind. “Lexi, hold up.”

  I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t even want to see him. One minute he tells me he’s not “like that” and the next, he’s messing around with a “great girl.” So which is it?

  “Lexi.” He grabs my arm. “What was that about?”

  “What?”

  “The taking it slow and the heat and the burnt potatoes. What were you talking about?”

  I shrug. “You heard Ms. Gupta. It’s the Maillard reaction. Who knew?”

  “Come on. You and I both know you weren’t talking about shepherd’s pie. That was about Jerod, wasn’t it?”

  Jerod? What the— “What are you talking about?”

  “Have you been seeing him? Has he tried something?”

  “What? No. What? Why would you—”

  Chris pulls me to the side of the hallway and lowers his voice. “I asked around about him after the Virginia Beach tournament. Dude’s a player. You should stay away from him.”

  I blink. My mind doesn’t know what to do with this information. Chris looked into Jerod? So maybe the flirting did bother him, and he wants to protect me—like a sister, no doubt, but still, it’s awfully sweet. On the other hand, who is he to talk? He can mess around with Lindsay, but I have to avoid Jerod?

  I shrug out of his grip and turn to leave. “Appreciate the warning, but I’m a big girl. It’s under control, thank you very much.”

  I stare at the phone. My heart rate is out of control. I’ve never called a boy before. Well, actually, I’ve called lots of boys—Chris, Briggs, Massey. But not like this. Not to ask a guy on a date. What do I say? What if he says no? Or, what if it goes to voicemail? What then?

  Come on, Lexi. You can do this. You’re the Boyfriend Whisperer for crying out loud.

  I pace my bedroom and remind myself that I don’t actually even like Jerod. I mean, he’s nice enough. And cute. And it’s possible that I could like him after a date or two. He’s just … not Chris. But Chris doesn’t like me. He’s with Lindsay. As in, with her.

  Is that why I’m doing this? To get back at Chris? I don’t let myself think about that. Instead, I take a deep breath and dial Jerod’s number. I think a million thoughts as the pho
ne rings. What if he wasn’t flirting in Virginia Beach? He probably wasn’t. I mean, there were a dozen cheerleaders there, all prettier than me. I must have looked like a big, awkward idiot next to all of them. Just because he smiled at me and complimented my hair, all of a sudden I think he’s in love with me? Maybe he was merely trying to make one of those cheerleaders jeal—

  “Hello?”

  Ack! Why couldn’t it have gone to voicemail?

  “Jerod? Hey.” My voice comes out as a squeak, so I clear my throat. “This is Lexi. Lexi Malloy.”

  “Well, hello, Lexi Malloy.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Good. Awesome. Especially now. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  I take a deep breath. So far, so good. He hasn’t hung up on me. I haven’t puked. I’m speaking in complete sentences. Mostly. “Um. Well. I was wondering. So there’s this party Saturday night.” My voice shakes. My whole body shakes. Man, I don’t give my clients enough credit for putting themselves out there. Coming up with a plan for whispering a boy is the easy part. Actually carrying it out is torturous.

  “Lexi? You still there?”

  “Yes, sorry.”

  “You were saying something about a party? Because there’s nothing I like better than a good party. I hope you were about to invite me.”

  I smile. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For making that easier.”

  His voice is deep and warm and smooth. “My pleasure.”

  Dear Anita:

  Thank you for entrusting Boyfriend Whisper Enterprises with your matchmaking needs. If you follow my instructions precisely, you are guaranteed to secure a date with Jose Ramos within three weeks or your money back. Your first set of instructions is as follows:

  I read over my standard introduction. Ugh. It’s all wrong. This poor girl is about to embark on a terrifying journey, and I’m using words like “precisely” and “secure”? Sounds like a legal document rather than a plan for finding love. I hit delete and start over.

  Dear Anita:

  Thank you for contacting Boyfriend Whisper Enterprises in your search for amor!

  Amor. Is that too much? Anita’s first language is Spanish, but maybe that’s going overboard. Hmm. What if it is? So sue me. I flex my hands and continue.

  If you follow these instructions, you are guaranteed to win Jose Ramos’s heart.*

  First, let me congratulate you. You’ve taken a big step by contacting me. But it is only the first step. You have some hard work ahead of you. You will need to be fearless and persistent, but as they say, nothing in life worth having comes easily. You’ve got this!

  Here’s what I need you to do:

  First, rent the 1972 movie The Candidate starring Robert Redford. This is one of Jose’s favorite movies. Watch it and take notes on the debate portion. (It’s actually a pretty good movie if you can get past the hairstyles!)

  Second, show up at the end of Jose’s Debate Team practice on Wednesday with brownies. He loves peanut butter best, but one of the girls on the team is allergic, so you’d better make them plain chocolate, with no nuts. Remember, these are NOT for Jose, they’re simply a treat for the whole team. No need to be shy—everyone loves brownies!

  Finally, ask someone on the team—anyone, girl or boy, so long as you ask loud enough for Jose to hear—if they’ve ever seen The Candidate. Mention that it has a great debate scene in it and say that you really enjoy watching good debates. Jose will undoubtedly come talk to you about the movie since you’ll probably be the first person he’s ever met who’s seen it. Share some of your favorite quotes from the debate. Smile and be friendly, but no serious flirting yet. And no further contact until my next email.

  Good luck! And remember, with Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises, “Love is but a whisper away.”

  Sincerely,

  The Boyfriend Whisperer

  www.boyfriendwhispererenterprises.com

  * Guaranteed within three weeks or your money back.

  As I scan the email, my fingers itch to go back in and delete some of the sap. Maybe Chris is right. Maybe I am getting sentimental. I resist the urge and hit “send.” I’ve done my part. Now it’s up to Anita to make it happen.

  I take a sip of soda and check my phone for the millionth time. Where’s Jerod? He had to work this afternoon, so he offered to meet me at the party. He’d better get here soon. I am literally standing in a corner next to a potted plant trying to be inconspicuous, which is tough when you’re as tall as me and the only girl in the room who apparently missed the memo on the mini skirts.

  The fact that I’m crashing uninvited doesn’t help. I figured bringing a hot guy from another school would make up for it. What if he doesn’t show?

  Abi shoots me a sweet and slightly apologetic smile from across the room. I know she’d come talk to me if she could, but of course, she can’t. People might notice, and then they might wonder, and then they might start to surmise. The last thing I need is a bunch of surmising classmates. I nod in her general direction and plaster on a smile. The second-to last thing I need is Abi feeling sorry for me.

  The front door opens, and my heart pauses. As anxious as I am for Jerod to arrive, part of me is terrified for that moment when he walks in and sees me standing here, friendless in my jeans and a hoodie. “Hey, dude.” I hear the voice before I see him. It’s not Jerod, it’s Chris, followed closely by Lindsay. Crap.

  I knew they’d be here, of course. If I’m being honest, that’s partly the point. A round of backslapping and fist bumping and hugging and squealing ensues. Chris flows through the room as easily as a fish through water, and it occurs to me that he and Lindsay are officially a Grand View power couple. He somehow has moved into the middle of this crowd, this life, as though it’s where he’s always belonged, while I stand on the edge with the plant life.

  I catch my breath as he turns and spots me. Though I am by far the most fully clothed girl in the room, I feel naked, exposed. He tilts his head and squints as though he’s trying to place me—like when you’re at the beach, and you see someone from back home, and your brain requires an extra beat to process it.

  “Hey, Lexi.” He walks over. The lighting is dim, but I could swear he’s blushing. “What are you doing here? I mean, it’s cool that you’re here. I just didn’t expect to see you. And what’s that?” He frowns into my cup.

  “Sprite,” I mumble. I don’t need to further stand out as the only girl in the room not drinking beers and wine coolers.

  “Good. Stick with Sprite.”

  His approving nod annoys me, so I decide to give him something to disapprove of. “I’m meeting Jerod. He should be here any minute.”

  “Jerod? So you two are …?”

  I shrug. “Whatever. It’s just a party.” As though meeting up with boys at random parties is simply how I roll.

  “Lexi!” Lindsay rushes over. “What a nice surprise. I didn’t realize you were friends with Elana.”

  I offer a careless wave of my hand. “Yeah, we go way back.” I’m pretty sure she knows I’m lying.

  She gives me an awkward hug and a once over. “You look … cute.” I force a smile. I suppose one good lie deserves another. She screeches and rushes off at the sight of an as-yet-unhugged friend across the room, and I turn to Chris.

  “I’m not sure I even know which one is Elana.”

  He laughs and motions to a girl standing in the stairwell talking on her phone. “Over there. Elana Medford.”

  “Okay. She’s familiar.” I’m pretty sure she’s on the swim team, though of course she looks different fully clothed. Or, well, half-clothed.

  “So this is how the ‘in-crowd’ does Saturday nights, huh?”

  Chris shrugs. “I guess. They like their parties.”

  They? So he doesn’t even realize yet that he’s one of them—that he swept in here as naturally as his finger-roll layup.

  A couple stum
bles past us, clearly wasted. The guy is waving his arms in the air, ranting—something about a screwed up tattoo and the cost of getting it removed.

  “And what about you? Do you like their parties?”

  Another shrug. “Better than sitting at home playing video games, I guess.”

  Ouch. I know that wasn’t aimed at me, but it still stings. Can I help it if I like to take out my frustrations blasting piggies? Anyway, I’d rather hang out with Stella, Matilda, and Red than with Unfortunate Tattoo Guy any day.

  As if he’s read my mind, Chris leans toward me, his voice low. “There are a few idiots, but most of these guys are pretty cool. And girls. You’ll see.”

  Somehow I don’t think I will see, because I can’t image hanging out with the mini-skirt crowd on a regular basis. Chris may be comfortable playing center court at a party like this, but I’m more of a back-of-the-bleachers type. “In case you haven’t noticed, my only friend until you arrived was Mr. Ficus here.” I extend my hand in an introduction. “Chris, meet the ficus tree. Ficus, this is Chris.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re whack. Briggs and Massey are here somewhere. And lots of people you know. Sometimes I think you choose to be …” He pauses, searching for the right word.

  “Awkward?”

  “No. You’re not awkward. More like … detached.”

  “Aloof.”

  “Aloof! That’s it. You need to lose the loof.”

  “Be more like Lindsay, I guess.” I hate myself for saying it, and I hate myself even more for the fact that it comes out kind of whiney.

  “What? No way. I mean, she’s definitely not aloof.” Chris grins and shakes his head as we watch her hug yet another cheerleader who has walked into the party. “But that’s her. You should do you. Just less aloofly.”

  “I’m going to need you to stop saying that word.”