The Boyfriend Whisperer

by Linda Budzinski

  “Small,” Jerod pipes in. “And skip the faux-butter.”

  Chris says nothing, but his eyebrows shoot up. He knows I love my butter. I busy myself with my wallet. “I’ve got this, Jerod. You bought the tickets.”

  Jerod and I argue back and forth about who will pay while Chris watches through hardened eyes. I shove a ten across the counter, ending the argument.

  “We had dinner at Sweetwater.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to tell him this. Perhaps it’s an apology for our anemic popcorn order, or perhaps it’s because I want to drive home the fact that this is a full-on date. A real, straight-up, girl-and-boy date, and in case he still hasn’t noticed, I’m the girl.

  Chris fails to acknowledge my pronouncement. In fact, he refuses to look at me as he hands Jerod the popcorn. “Enjoy your movie.”

  Dear Anita:

  You’re doing great. Honestly. Sometimes these things take a while. Please just try to stick with it. Your next step is as follows:

  Tomorrow evening, show up at Pollo Delicioso at 7 p.m. and order some takeout. This is the end of Jose’s shift. He usually walks home from work, but you will offer him a ride. On the way to his house, ask if he has any pets. He loves to talk about his Chihuahua, Taquito.

  When you arrive at the house, tell him you’d like to meet Taquito. Hang out for a few minutes and play with him, and make sure to ask whether he knows any tricks. (He can shake, roll over, and dance. It’s honestly the cutest thing.) After a while, tell Jose you wish you could stick around longer but you need to get the chicken home before it gets cold.

  Do not initiate contact again until you receive my next email. Good luck. You’ve got this!

  Sincerely,

  The Boyfriend Whisperer

  www.boyfriendwhispererenterprises.com

  I close my eyes and hit “send.” Never have I been less confident in my whispering abilities, and my three weeks is almost up. Since making the brownies, Anita has completed two other assignments. She got Jose to help her with her algebra homework and paired up with him as tennis partners during their gym class. She seriously has done a great job. But Jose and Maria are inseparable. They ride the bus together, eat lunch together, walk through the hallways holding hands together. And the worst part is, they’re really, really sweet together.

  I’ve failed only once in my career as the Boyfriend Whisperer, when Joletta Smith hired me to whisper Bryan Owens. I tried every trick in the book for those two, only to find out after three weeks that Bryan doesn’t like girls. Not that way, anyway. Not much I could do but process Joletta’s refund.

  This time, though, is different. I need to try to make it work, for Anita’s sake and, if I’m being honest, for mine. I need to know that just because a guy is going out with a girl and just because they seem like a great couple, it doesn’t mean they’re right for each other. The right girl could be waiting in the wings, and if she sticks with it long enough, things just might work out.

  “A small popcorn?” Chris catches up with me at my locker first thing Monday morning. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, Lexi. You’re smarter than that. Why would a guy order a small popcorn for two people?”

  I sigh. If you’re Jerod, it’s apparently because you have a moral objection to enjoying a delicious snack while watching a super-preachy documentary about how technology is ruining everyone’s lives. But I don’t tell Chris this. Instead, I rest my hands on my hips. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  Chris rolls his eyes. “You’re sitting in a dark theater, side by side. How many times did he grab your hand when you both reached into that tiny bag? And at what point in the movie did he finally slip his arm around you?”

  “Sounds like the voice of experience.”

  Chris’s face grows red. The kids walking by have started to stare, so I take a step toward him and lower my voice. “Not that I have to answer to you, but for the record, Jerod did not have a single kernel of popcorn.” I smile sweetly. “Though he did grab my hand. If I recall correctly, it was sometime during the opening credits. And he didn’t let it go until long after the movie ended.”

  The part about the popcorn is true. The part about Jerod grabbing my hand is not. In fact, I grabbed his halfway through the movie, and he seemed okay with it, but that’s as far as things went. Much as I hate to admit it, his lack of game is starting to bother me. Sure, it’s great to be respected, and I don’t particularly want him jumping all over me, but a kiss might be nice. Or two. What if it’s me? Maybe I’m not the kissable type.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Chris touches my elbow, his eyes searching mine. I hate that he can see past my smile.

  I pull back and nod. “I’m fine. Did you know that three out of five people spend more time with their computers than with the people they love?”

  “What?”

  “And thirty-eight percent of teens are harassed or bullied online.”

  “Um. Okay.” Chris’s eyes widen. “Wait a minute. Did he take you to see that tech-gone-bad movie? Are you kidding me?”

  Suddenly I feel the need to defend the preachy documentary. “For your information, it was very informative and … educational,” I say. “A movie doesn’t have to have a chase scene to keep my attention.”

  With that, I slam my locker and waltz away. If I’m being honest, a chase scene or two would have done wonders for that movie.

  Wednesday morning, I wake with a start. Today’s the day. My mind buzzes the way it usually does before a big game, but this isn’t about me. It’s about Abi. If all goes according to plan, Operation Promposal will go down after the last bell.

  Of course, that’s a pretty big “if.” Maybe I shouldn’t have planned something quite so elaborate. My classes drag, and I squirm and fidget through them like a six-year-old, full of nervous energy. What if not everyone shows up? What if Abi doesn’t arrive at the appointed location at the appointed time? What if someone blabs to her? Worst of all, what if Briggsy wusses out at the last minute?

  Half the school is buzzing with anticipation, including Chris and Massey. “Who do you think is behind this?” Chris asks me as I sit down across from him at lunch.

  I shrug. I swore Briggs to secrecy. Can’t have the entire school catching on to my mad matchmaking skills. “Maybe he came up with it himself.”

  Chris and Massey laugh as though that’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Which perhaps it is. “Hey.” Massey nudges Chris’s arm. “Maybe there’s a Girlfriend Whisperer out there somewhere.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I need to hook up with her. Or him. Maybe we should beat Briggs up until he tells us who it is.”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” I wave a finger at them. “Violence.”

  Lindsay joins us, her eyes shining. “You guys, I’m so nervous. What if I can’t stall Abi from getting to her locker this afternoon? Everything hinges on it, you know.”

  I should be thrilled that Lindsay is taking her role to heart. After all, she’s right; everything does hinge on it. But instead, I’m annoyed that she’s acting so important. After all, Abi is one of the most easily distracted people I know, and she only has to stall her for about five minutes. Part of me wants to show Lindsay up and proclaim to Chris and Massey and the whole stupid cafeteria that I, Lexi Malloy, am the mastermind behind today’s production. Whereas just minutes ago, I wanted nothing more than to keep it a secret, now I’m dying to tell everyone. Of course, that would be rash and highly counterproductive, so instead, I glare at Lindsay and take a big bite of my mac and cheese as I swallow my pride.

  The plan is true brilliance. Last fall our school did a production of Grease. A few days ago, I reached out anonymously to a few of the cast members and asked them to revise one of the numbers and perform a flash mob for Abi’s benefit. Oh, yeah, and to teach Briggs some of the words and dance moves while they were at it. It should be entertaining, and, I
hope, successful in showing Abi that she—and only she—is the one he wants.

  Civics is my last class of the day and after about three hours, or maybe forty-five minutes, of listening to Mr. Grawley drone on about the importance of due process, the bell finally rings. I shoot out of my desk, through the door, and toward A Hall, where Abi’s locker is located. By the time I reach it, most of the cast is already assembled. Roland Briggs, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is he?” Marcus Winters, the guy who played Danny and presumably taught Briggsy everything he knows, is muttering and wringing his hands. “If he stands us up after all those hours trying to teach him a proper hip swivel, I swear I’ll kill him.” Marcus is a total drama king, and I swear I’d laugh if I weren’t so annoyed at Briggs myself. I slip away and head toward the nearest boy’s bathroom. It’s worth a shot.

  I knock on the door and crack it open. “Briggsy? You in here? Is anyone in here?”

  Briggs appears at the door, his face pale and his eyes wide. “I can’t do it, Lexi. I’m sorry, but I’m—”

  I push my way in and shut the door behind me. “Briggsy, Briggsy, Briggsy. You can and will do this—right down to each and every hip swivel. Because you adore Abi, and you’d do anything for her, and anyway, if you really throw yourself into it, you’ll be awesome. I get that you’re nervous, but everyone will love it so long as you own it.”

  Briggs shakes his head. “That’s not it. I don’t care what people think. And anyway, believe it or not, I’m actually pretty good at the hip swivels.” He performs one for me, and I have to admit, boy’s got game.

  “What then?”

  “What if she says no?” His voice is strained. “What if after everything, Abi still refuses to go to prom with me?”

  I blink. I’m used to delivering girl-power pep talks, but this is new. Could Briggsy—the self-proclaimed living, breathing chick magnet—have the same insecurities as some of my clients?

  “Dude, she’s not going to say no. Trust me. This will work.” I check my Fitbit. “You have less than a minute before she arrives. Get your butt out there.”

  Briggs groans and punches the nearest sink. “Ow!”

  “Brilliant.” I grab him by the sleeve and pull him out the door. “Come on. If you don’t ask her, you definitely will not be going to prom with her. What do you have to lose?”

  Briggs rubs his hand and takes a deep breath. “You’re sure she won’t say no?”

  I give him what I hope comes across as a confident smile. “I’m sure. You’ve got this.”

  Briggs follows me out the door and toward the still growing crowd. I slip away, so it doesn’t look like we’re together.

  “There he is!” One of the girls rushes up to him and pulls him into place. “Remember your cue?”

  Briggs glances over at me, and I give him a nod.

  “Let’s do it,” he says.

  A hush falls across the crowd as Lindsay and Abi appear around the corner. Abi stops, her eyes wide. “What’s going on? Why is everyone staring at me?”

  A guy crouched behind Briggsy shouts, “Hit it,” and the entire cast breaks into their adaptation of “You’re the One that I Want.” The girls throw themselves at Briggs, who brushes them off one by one as he stares at Abi, singing, “You’re the one that I want, Abi. Ooh, ooh, ooh, Abi.” At first, he’s stiff as a statue, but on the second verse, he breaks out the hip swivels, sending the girls—and not just the rehearsed cast girls but pretty much every girl in the hallway—into a squealing mass.

  Abi’s expression is a mixture of amusement and horror. She glances at me, eyebrows raised. I shoot her a pleading look. Say yes, Abi. Give him a chance.

  As the number ends, Briggsy takes a few running steps and drops to his knees, skidding across the tiles and stopping in front of her. He leans back and lifts his arms in the air. “Abi Eisenberg, will you accompany me to Grand View’s Junior Prom?”

  Abi looks from him, to me, to the crowd, and back to Briggs. Her voice shakes as she answers. “That was awesome, but I … I’m … I don’t …” She turns and takes off down the hall.

  Briggsy’s shoulders slump. Everyone is dead silent, until a girl in the back giggles and stage whispers, “This is awkward.”

  Massey walks up to Briggs and punches him on the arm. “Tough one, dude. Sorry, but I gotta catch a bus.”

  With that, everyone disperses, leaving Briggs to wallow in his rejection. I want to run, but I can’t. I got him into this mess, and I can’t just abandon him. He peers up at me as I walk over. Where I expect to see anger, I see only defeat. Ugh. This is not the brash Briggsy I know and love.

  I take off down the hall in the direction Abi ran. If she wanted to escape, I have an idea where she might be.

  At first, I don’t see her. Abi’s crouched on the footstool, tucked behind a stack of paper towels.

  “Hey.” I pull up a box of tile cleaner and take a seat next to her. “You okay?”

  “You shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice is low but controlled. At least she’s not crying.

  I say nothing. I was sure she’d love it. I thought she would be thanking me, not angry with me. I know I should apologize, but I’m not sure for what.

  “I understand you meant well,” she says finally. “But you put me in a bad position. Roland, too.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be a bad position if you’d said yes.” I realize this is probably not a wise response, but I can’t help myself. I grab her arm and plead with her. “Why didn’t you, Abi? I know you like him. I know you want to go with him.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Right.” I lean back, resting my head against the wall. “The thing is, I think he’s learned. I honestly believe it will be different this time. You know he never meant you any disrespect, right? He was just kind of … clueless.”

  Abi turns to me, her expression guarded. “What if it’s not different? What if I go back to him, and he turns around and does the same thing—flirting all the time and letting other girls hang on him right in front of me? I deserve better.”

  “You do. You absolutely do.” I sit up straight and look her in the eye. “I’m asking you to give Briggsy a chance. And I can’t promise you he won’t mess up, but I can promise you I’ll be the first in line to whack him upside the head if he does.”

  That brings a small smile. “So you’re going?”

  “What?”

  “To prom?”

  “No. What? I can’t—”

  “Lexi, please.” Abi grabs both my hands in hers. “I need you there. For moral support. And the head-whacking thing. Seriously, you have to go.”

  “If I do?”

  “I’ll give Roland a chance.”

  I sigh and close my eyes. “Done.”

  I hang up before the second ring. Crap. Jerod’s going to see my number. Why did I hang up? And why doesn’t this get any easier?

  I hadn’t planned to go to prom. I don’t have a date, and I’m not exactly the go-anyway-and-hang-out-with-a-bunch-of-girlfriends type, seeing as I have no girlfriends per se. I had my entire evening mapped out, with a proper mix of mindless action movies, rocky road ice cream, and self-pity. And of course, I would check Instagram every ten minutes for pictures of Lindsay and Chris in all their red-dress-and-possibly-red-tie glory.

  Now I have to activate Plan B: Jerod. I’m not proud of the fact that I think of him as Plan B, especially since that puts him below rocky road. The whole thing is unfair and ill-advised and possibly even a bit mean. But I promised Abi I’d go to prom, and Jerod is my best shot. Anyway, I’m probably overthinking it. It’s a stupid dance. It’s not like it means anything. Jerod’s a friend, and people go to dances all the time with friends. I do like him, though maybe not the way he likes me. At least, I think he likes me that way, despite the fact that he hasn’t even kissed me. And how screwed up is it that even though I don’t really like him that way I’m annoyed he has
n’t kissed me?

  Ugh. I sit down on my bed and cradle my head in my arms. I’m definitely overthinking this whole thing. Chill, Lexi. Time to do this. I hit redial.

  Jerod picks up on the first ring. “Hello, Lexi Malloy.”

  “Hey.”

  Jerod says nothing. Does he know what’s coming?

  “So. Remember when you told me how much you love a good party?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, there’s another one coming up next weekend, and I’m not sure how good it will be, but it’s kind of a … prom.”

  “I see.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “Come on. Don’t play dumb.”

  Jerod laughs. “Oh, no. I made it easy for you the first time. This time, you’re on your own. If you’re not going to hire a plane to write it out in the sky or post a video on YouTube or come to my house and hold up a charming hand-made poster outside my bedroom window, you’re at least going to have to say the words.”

  Fair enough. I take a deep breath. “Why do people say you’re a player?”

  Wait. What? Did I seriously just ask him that? I squeeze my eyes shut. I’ve been wondering about it all week, but this probably was not the best timing for that question.

  “Jerod? Are you there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I, uh, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Of course not, and … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, and if you prefer not to answer, that’s okay, but I actually kind of would like to—”

  “It was this girl, Lisa.”

  “Oh?”

  “Man, I can’t believe this stupid rumor made it all the way to Grand View. Who told you I was a player?”

  I hesitate. No way am I ratting out Chris. He was just looking out for me, after all. “I heard through the grapevine, I guess. I don’t think it’s all over the school or anything. So what about this Lisa chick?”

  “She liked me last year, but I was … let’s just say, not that into her. She’s kind of loud, and she smells like smoke. I don’t know if that’s because she smokes or if someone in her family smokes, but either way, I’m kind of sensitive to it, so I can hardly stand to be around her. Sometimes my eyes start to water and—”