“I’ll tell you what it is.” Lindsay steps forward, still smirking like a cat toying with its prey. “It’s the silliest thing, really. Girls pay her to help them get a boy. Think about it. What kind of loser needs to pay money to get a date? Not to mention, her methods are juvenile, at best. She basically snoops around the guy’s life and feeds a bunch of useless trivia to her clients.” She glances at Chris. “Things like their favorite basketball team.”
She makes a sweeping motion toward the crowd. “It’s unbelievable how many of you have fallen for it.”
And then it happens. It starts with murmured whispers and suspicious stares and escalates to arguments and accusations.
“Did you figure out that Dead Rising hack by yourself or did you Google it?”
“If I took you out on a boat right now, would you have any idea how to actually bait a hook?”
“Have you ever even seen any of the Mad Max movies?”
As guys begin to shout, and girls begin to protest, several of the couples turn their wrath toward me. They’re calling me names and screaming and pointing as though I’m some sort of criminal. If someone had a stake and matches handy, I’d be toast.
“We should go.” Jerod grabs my arm, eyeing the angry mob in all their shimmery, glittery, lacy glory. “This can’t end well.”
“No. It’s not fair.” I pull away from him. “Let me explain.” I try to shout above the ruckus. “I was trying to help. I just want you all to be happy and find love.”
But it’s no use. Everyone is shouting me down, and they’re starting to press in on me. Again Jerod grabs my arm, and he pulls me toward the door. “Prom night’s over.”
As we reach the front porch, I glance back past the fighting couples, the classmates calling for my head, and Lindsay’s triumphant glare to catch a glimpse of Chris’s face. He’s pissed. And hurt. And generally looks as though he never wants to see me again.
I wake up Sunday morning feeling hung over, though I never had a drink, and my back feels the way it did the time Massey mowed me down on his way to the basket in the ninth grade. Must have pulled something when I tripped over my dress. I pull a pillow over my head and moan.
How did everything get so screwed up so quickly? How can I face everyone at school tomorrow? What am I supposed to do with my life now that Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises is the most vilified startup on the planet? And what will I say to Chris the next time I see him?
My phone buzzes.
It’s Abi, no doubt calling to point out that this is my fault and that we should have quit while we were ahead. I consider not answering, but I know I’ve made things tough for her. I owe it to her to let her rant. I squeeze my eyes shut and answer. “Hey, chica.”
“You okay?” Her voice is soft and gentle, not at all what I’m expecting. For some reason, this makes me feel worse.
“No. You?”
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“Not your fault, obviously. Anyway, I’m sorry too. About last night and about … everything.” My voice cracks. Jolene had Abi pinned against the wall, yet she revealed nothing, and when everyone else was content to watch me fall, she reached out and caught me. I’ve never given her enough credit. She’s been the most loyal employee anyone could hope for. “I also should thank you. You had my back last night. I appreciate it.”
Abi pauses. “That’s what friends do.”
Oh, man. Why did she have to go and say that? Tears spring to my eyes, and I grab the box of tissues from my nightstand. “I’m your boss, Abi. Or was. Now …”
“Now we’re friends. And to be honest, you’re in no position to be picky. I may be the only friend you have at this point.”
In spite of everything, this makes me smile. “Ah, yes. That’s the Abi I know and love. Or at least, put up with.”
“Actually, I take it back.”
My heart sinks. Why do I always have to ruin everything? “Abi, I’m kidding. I know I haven’t always been the nicest to you, but—”
“Shut up, silly. I don’t take back being your friend. What I mean is, I take back saying I’m your only friend. Briggs is still your friend, too. We both know you meant well. And we both appreciate what you did for us. Twice.”
I tear up again. She’s right. The Boyfriend Whisperer hasn’t been a complete failure. I brought those two together. Now if only I could convince the rest of my classmates.
As we hang up, my phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Jerod. Crap. Just when I was starting to feel a little better about myself. He was such a sweetheart last night, and I was … not.
I swipe to answer. “Thank you, and I’m sorry.”
He laughs. “That’s an interesting way to answer the phone.”
“I mean it. I suck, and you’re awesome, and you didn’t deserve last night.”
“It wasn’t so bad. And it was probably a whole lot more exciting than my prom will be next weekend.”
I tense up. Don’t tell me he’s about to ask me to his prom. That apology was about more than the after-prom party disaster. It was about the whole night. About asking him in the first place when actually I wanted to be there with Chris.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“What? Who?” What is he, some kind of mind reader?
“He’s a stand-up dude. You could do worse.”
I close my eyes. “I’m sorry, Jerod. You’re such a great guy, and—”
“Lexi. I don’t need the ‘great guy’ speech. It’s okay. You and Chris belong together. Anyone can see that.”
Right. Except for Chris. “Yeah, well. He hates me now, so that’s not going to happen. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“He’ll come around. Guys have short memories when it comes to this kind of thing. Trust me.”
I get the feeling Jerod has something else he wants to tell me, but what? Surely he didn’t call me merely to deliver a pep talk about Chris.
He clears his throat. “So like I was saying, I have prom coming up next weekend.”
Right. He is going to ask me to prom. And I can’t very well say no when it’s clear I asked him to mine for selfish reasons. Besides, I have the dress and shoes. I have no excuse.
“I was wondering if you’d mind if—”
“Sure. Not a problem. I owe you that much.”
“But you don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”
“I was going to ask if you’d mind if I took Carmella to my prom.”
“Carmella?” I cover the phone and let out a sigh of relief. “I … yeah, I kind of thought that’s where you were going. And it’s definitely not a problem. Go for it. You’ll have an awesome time.”
As we hang up, I smile. First Abi and Briggs, and now Jerod and Carmella. I didn’t bring either couple together using my typical strategies, but I did bring them together. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seemed last night. Maybe Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises still has a chance.
Or not. Monday at school, half of my couples have broken up, and the other half are arguing. My locker is a rainbow of graffiti and sticky notes—twenty-seven of them, not that I counted. My favorite is a little poem.
ODE TO A STUPID CUPID
You thought you were Cupid,
But really you were stupid.
I wanted to be Brett Bond’s wife,
But instead, you ruined my life.
- Anonymous
Um. Okay. Since I only whispered Brett Bond for one client, I have a pretty good idea of who “Anonymous” might be.
The stares and the whispers are the worst. I hide in the F Hall janitor’s closet for as much of the day as possible, scooting into my classes right as the bell rings and shooting out just as quickly. My social media has exploded, and not in a good way, so I avoid my phone.
During lunch period, I head to the closet with a Power Bar, a pear, and a juice box. As I round the corner at F Hall, I hear
the click-clack of heels behind me. Lovely. Now I’m being stalked? As I walk casually past the closet, a shout stops me.
“Lexi!”
It’s Abi. She’s the first friendly face I’ve seen all day, and before I know what I’m doing, I hug her so tight she has to gasp for me to let her go.
“Sorry. I’m just … I … Abi, what am I going to do?” I tear up as she opens the closet door and shoos me in.
“I have to tell you something,” she says, her expression serious. “Remember yesterday when I said I was sorry and you said this wasn’t my fault? Well … it kind of is.”
“What? What are you talking about? How can this be your fault?”
“I figured it out last night. How Lindsay found you out. It was me. Me and my stupid brother.”
“Ari? What does he have to do with this?”
“That email thing I told you about. There’s a reason he knew exactly how someone might figure out your identity. It’s because he did it. He did it for Lindsay when he was home over Christmas break. He went through my emails and compared all of my friends’ addresses with the Boyfriend Whisperer’s IP address, and yours hit. I called him last night and asked him about it, and he admitted it.”
“But why?”
“Ah.” She waves her hand in the air. “He’s always had a thing for Lindsay. No doubt she sweet-talked him into it. She knew he’d be able to figure something out, and the fact that he had access to all of my accounts made it that much easier.”
“No, I mean, why would she go to that much trouble to figure out who I was?”
Abi looks at me as though I’m a dimwit. “Because Ty and Alicea? Hello?”
“Oh, wow.” I sink onto the footstool. Suddenly it all makes sense. Lindsay must have liked Ty when I whispered him for Alicea, so she set out to figure out who the Boyfriend Whisperer was. At some point, she figured out I had a crush on Chris, so she decided to revenge date him. Not only that, she hired me to whisper him for her. “Lindsay Freaking LaDouche,” I mutter. A knot forms in my stomach as I realize that Lindsay truly did use Chris to get back at me. She led him on, played with him, cheated on him, humiliated him. And all of it is my fault.
“Lexi, I’m so sorry,” Abi says. “I know I complained a lot about this job, but I never meant for anything like this to happen.”
“No, you’re not to blame. I am.” I hug my knees into my chest. I caused all those broken hearts out there on the other side of the closet, including Chris’s. “You were right all along. I was messing with people’s emotions. Me. The last person in the world who should be giving advice about love. I’m such an idiot.”
“Don’t say that.” Abi wraps her arms around me. “And don’t worry. Chris will forgive you.”
I offer her half of my Power Bar, and we sit in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. Mine are like a merry-go-round, minus the merry part. Is Abi right? Will Chris forgive me? No way. I don’t even think I can forgive myself. But maybe he will. Or not. Probably not. But maybe.
“You have chem lab this afternoon, right?” Abi interrupts the madness.
“Yes. Don’t remind me. I may skip and go to the nurse’s office.”
“No, you should go.” Abi stands and paces back and forth in front of me. “Tell Chris you want to talk to him after school.”
“What if he says no?”
“Insist.”
“And what then?”
She stops and stares at me, her jaw set. “You tell him the truth. About everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“Including the fact that I like him?”
“Everything.”
Chem lab is a repeat of a couple of weeks ago, only worse. Things were awkward then, but now they’re downright hostile. The air is as tense as a tightrope ready to snap. Chris and Lindsay. Chris and me. The entire class and me.
Chris actively ignores me as he sets up the materials for our experiment, which has something to do with magnets. How am I supposed to ask him to meet me after school if I can’t even get him to look at me?
While Ms. Gupta drones on about attraction and repulsion, I surreptitiously text Abi for support.
Lexi: i can’t do it.
Abi: u can. u must.
Lexi: we’re like two negatively charged ions
Abi: ???
Lexi: repulsion
Abi: well, then, it’s time to get positive.
Lexi: >:(
Abi: lol turn that frown upside down
Abi: +++++
I look up to find Ms. Gupta hovering over me, still talking about ions, her hand extended. I surrender my phone without protest. The stupid thing is filled with hate messages anyway.
“Thank you, Miss Malloy. You can retrieve this after the last bell.” Ms. Gupta slips the phone into her desk drawer and carries on while I bury my head in my arms on the lab table. I’m not in a participatory mood, and Chris seems more than happy to fly solo on this one.
I close my eyes and try to decide what to say to him. We need to talk. No. Too cliché. Give me a chance to apologize. Ugh. I couldn’t handle it if he said no. Might we have a word after school? Way too formal. And … British sounding.
Crap. What is wrong with me? Chris has been my best friend since the third grade. I should be able to— Was that the bell? Double crap! I lift my head to find Chris halfway out the door. Part of me wants to let him go, but I know Abi’s right. I have to do this.
“Chris, wait! Chris!” I take off after him. He either doesn’t hear me or is ignoring me, but I catch up with him in the hallway and step in front of him, blocking his way. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He steps backward. He is literally repelled by me.
“I … can we … give me a chance to explain.”
“I gotta get to class.” He tries to step around me, but I won’t let him. He sighs. “Let me by.”
“I’ll come over to your house after school. It won’t take long. Hear me out, and then you can ignore me all you want.” I take a deep breath. People are staring, but I don’t care. I lean forward and plead. “We’ve been friends forever. You can’t throw that away without letting me tell you my side of things. Please.”
He fakes to the left and passes me on the right. Man. How did I fall for that? “Please?” I shout after him.
“Fine,” he calls over his shoulder. “After school.”
Chris’s mom smiles when she opens the door. “Lexi! What a nice surprise. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She gives me a long hug. “Chris is downstairs. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
Right. I thank her, take a deep breath, and head toward the basement. Chris is sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, ear buds in, so he doesn’t notice me at first.
I stand nervously for a moment, taking him in. He’s the same boy I’ve known for eight long years, yet so different. A series of images flash through my mind—times we’ve wrestled on that couch, made forts out of its cushions, sat on it to play crazy eights or go fish or war. Once when we were about eleven years old, I did a backflip over the side, and my shirt flew up. I’d just started wearing a bra, and though Chris pretended he didn’t see it, I knew he did. I wanted to die. After that, we stuck to playing board games and watching movies. There was no more rough-housing, no physical contact at all except the occasional bump and run on the court, and even then, I could tell he was holding back.
He opens his eyes and jumps. “Jeez, Lexi! How long have you been standing there?”
I shrug and sit down carefully next to him as he pulls out his earbuds. “I just got here. What are you listening to?”
“Dark Side of the Moon. Kind of matches my mood.”
“I’m sorry. About … everything.”
Chris stares into the distance and says nothing.
I clasp my hands together and clear my throat. “I’m going to start at the beginning.” Chris sets his jaw but says nothing,
so I press on. “Remember that day way back in September when Abi pulled me out of the cafeteria?”
I tell him everything. Well, almost everything. I tell him about Abi and Briggsy, and the founding of Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises, and how I was thinking about franchising it and how I’m not sure I want to play college hoops. I explain about Ty and Alicea, and Jolene and Brendon, and all the other couples. I tell him about Lindsay’s application, and the pheromone experiment, and the Teddy bear with the Bulls jersey, and how I found Lindsay and Ty together, and how I’m really, really sorry for keeping so much from him for so long and how I don’t blame him if he hates me. But I don’t tell him how I feel. I can’t. Because as I’m talking, Chris’s expression goes from apathetic to annoyed to angry and back to apathetic. It’s the apathy I can’t face.
Finally, he turns toward me and speaks, his eyes guarded, his voice calm. “I need to know one thing.”
“Okay.”
“When you set me up with Lindsay, was that … was it purely because it was your job, or did you want us to be together, or what?”
“I thought she liked you. And I could tell you liked her. I wanted you to be happy.” I’m dying to reach out and grab his hands, but instead, I tug at a loose thread on one of the couch pillows, twisting it around and around my pinkie. “If I’d known Lindsay was going to do what she did Saturday night, I never would have accepted her application. You have to believe that.”
Chris nods, but his expression is sad. Disappointed. “I believe you.”
I can’t bear to have him look at me like this. “I was trying to be a good friend, Chris. I swear. That’s all I wanted.” It about killed me, but it’s true.
Chris offers a small smile. “Okay. I get it.” He’s being nice, but something has changed. He’s pulling back. Shutting down.
“Well, thank you for listening. And for not totally hating me?”
“Of course not. I never totally hated you.” He gives me a sideways smile, and though I know he’s teasing, it still hurts. Guess I deserve that.
The Boyfriend Whisperer Page 17