The Boyfriend Whisperer

by Linda Budzinski

We sit in silence for a moment and then, with a burst of incredulity, Chris throws his hands in the air. “In other news … did you just say you don’t want to play college ball? What’s that about? And what will your parents say?”

  I groan and lean back into the couch. “Don’t remind me. Mom just bought us tickets to go up to U Conn.”

  “U Conn? You got an offer from U Conn?” Chris sits up and faces me, his mouth agape. “Lexi, that’s huge.”

  I wave away his enthusiasm. “It’s not a full. And Dad says there’s no way I’d start freshman year and probably not even sophomore year. And I’m not even sure I want to play, remember? So, not so huge.”

  “How can you not want to play? I don’t get it.”

  “I didn’t say I don’t want to play; I said I’m not sure.” I hug the pillow to my chest. How do I explain this to someone whose entire goal in life is to play ball? I speak slowly, haltingly, partly because I’m trying to figure it out myself. “It’s like … just because I can play, does it mean I have to? Mom keeps saying I have a gift, but does that make it my destiny? Does it mean I have to spend the next five years—not just during the season, but every single break and all my summers—practicing and training and stressing about basketball? What if I want to study abroad for a year, or do an internship somewhere, or … take up macramé? College is supposed to be a time to figure things out.”

  Chris shakes his head. “Wow. I had no idea.”

  I bite my lip and take a chance. “And what if I didn’t want to go to college at all?”

  His eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I thought I wanted to franchise Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises right after high school, but that’s obviously not happening. But what if there’s something else? I want options. And right now, with all these schools trying to get me to commit, I feel like I’d be giving up my options.” I sigh. “Sorry. I’m sure I sound like an ungrateful loser.”

  “No.” Chris shakes his head. “I mean, sure, I’d give my right arm to have your problems, but it’s wild to hear you say all this. I never knew. I always figured you were Lexi Malloy, the Girl Who Has It All Figured Out.”

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I look away. I’ve always let everyone believe that. I’ve wanted to believe it myself. Chris is the first person I’ve ever confessed all this to, and part of me would love to tell him the rest of the story as well, to spill everything and tell him about the thing I want most in the world. But I don’t. I can’t.

  “You didn’t tell him?” Abi places her hand on her hip and shakes her head.

  “Watch out!”

  We both jump to miss the foam ball someone has thrown our way. We’re playing dodgeball in gym, and Abi and I seem to be everyone’s favorite targets. Still, it’s nice to be able to talk to her out in the open without having to stress about what people think.

  “I couldn’t. Honestly, I’m just glad he’s still talking to me. I think we might even get back to being friends. Nothing would make me happier.”

  “Mmm hmm.” Abi pops an exaggerated head weave. “Don’t even try that on me, girlfriend.” She ducks to avoid another ball.

  “Hey! No head shots!” I stomp over to the dude who threw it. “What do you think you’re doing? Apologize.”

  Abi waves him off. “Forget it, Lexi. Not worth it.”

  “No. I mean it.” I turn toward the crowd watching us. “You can throw the stupid ball at me all you want, but leave Abi out of it. She never did anything to you. She was my assistant, and she’s …” I glance at her. “My friend, but I was the one who called the shots. I’m the one who supposedly ruined your lives.”

  “Supposedly?” Annie Blevins, a short red-headed girl with big eyes and a mouth to match, steps forward. I set her up New Year’s Eve with a guy from her English class. “You still don’t get it, do you? You took our money and screwed us over. Did you really think coaching me to become a huge football fan overnight was going to work? Did you honestly believe knowing the stats of the entire Redskins offensive line was going to be my ticket to true love?”

  I draw myself up to my full five feet, nine inches and glare down at Annie. “Yes, actually, I did. And so did you.” I wave my finger at the whole group. “So did all of you. And you were happy to go along with it as long as it worked. So maybe it didn’t last. And maybe I screwed up. Fine. Hate me if you want, but I was trying to help. I was trying to help you find love, and if that’s a crime, well, I guess I’m guilty as charged.” I turn and stalk away toward the girls’ locker room. I’ve dodged enough balls for one day.

  I change in the very back of the room, hoping to avoid everyone, but it’s no use. As I’m fastening the belt to my jeans, Alicea Springer corners me.

  “Lexi?”

  I sigh and sink down onto the nearest bench. Here we go. “Alicea, I’m not in the mood. I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be, and I’m sorry. I really am. I’m sorry I did such a crappy job setting you up, I’m sorry you and Ty broke up right before prom, and I’m really, truly sorry for the way things turned out with him and Lindsay.”

  “Well, I appreciate that, but—”

  “But what?” I tear up, and my voice cracks. Damn it. The last thing I want is to let my classmates see me cry, but a girl can only take so much. “You’re just dying to tell me how much I screwed up your life, aren’t you? You want to pile on? Fine. Bring it. Bring the hate.”

  “Actually, that’s not why I’m here.” Alicea sits down next to me. “I’m here to thank you.”

  Thank me?

  “I was always super shy around guys. I never knew what to say, or how to say it. I worried so much about sounding stupid; I wouldn’t say anything at all. In fact, I did the same thing around girls, adults, little kids, pretty much everyone. But you changed all that.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You and your emails.” She gazes off into the distance and recites, “You’re beautiful and brilliant, and you have a voice that matters. Now use it! Sound familiar?”

  I nod. I don’t remember typing those exact words, but it sounds like something the Boyfriend Whisperer would have said, especially to someone as quiet and withdrawn as Alicea.

  “I read those words over and over until I believed them. And they worked. They got me to talk to Ty. Not only that, I made friends with a few girls in my dance class, and I even aced my oral report in poli-sci last week. Mr. Bartlett said I spoke with passion and conviction. Me!”

  “Wow, that’s awesome. That’s amazing.” I remember Chris’s crack that night at Italiano’s about Alicea having more face time with her computer than with guys. Did my emails really give her that kind of confidence?

  Alicea grabs my hands in hers. “I mean it. Thank you. You’ve changed my life.”

  I smile and give her a long, tight hug. Maybe Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises did some good after all.

  Mom opens her laptop and pulls up her spreadsheet on colleges. “I’m rating U Conn’s offer a five out of ten, but I’m giving that assistant coach a nine. She was a sharp lady. Very impressive. Now, let’s see … the campus. How would you rate that?”

  I play with the food tray fastener on the seatback in front of me. “It was nice.”

  “Nice. Is that a seven? An eight? I need a number.”

  Mom, Dad, and I are sitting on the tarmac waiting to go home from our weekend visit to U Conn. Mom has the window seat, Dad is on the aisle answering emails, and I’m stuck in the middle trying to work up the nerve to spill what I’ve wanted to tell them for months. Maybe I’ll wait until we take off. Mom wouldn’t dare create a scene thirty thousand feet in the air on a packed flight, would she? People get arrested for that kind of thing. On the other hand, maybe that’s not such a great plan.

  “Mark, what do you think?”

  “I think I’m going to fire Paul when I get back to the office. He let a major deal slip through our fingers. I can’t go away for two days without
everything falling apart.”

  “Oh, put away your phone.” Mom swats at him across my lap. “I want to record this while it’s fresh in our minds. What did you think of the campus?”

  I reach over and shut her laptop. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  Mom’s eyes widen as she looks from me to her computer and back again. “What on earth?”

  “It’s about college, and basketball, and … options.”

  “Yes, options.” Mom points to her laptop. “That’s precisely why I put together this spreadsheet. So we can assess your options and figure out which one is best.”

  I nod slowly. “We’re on the same page … kind of. Except, I’m not sure any of those are best.”

  “What do you mean?” Mom clasps the armrest between us. “Is there another offer you haven’t told us about? Is it Syracuse? Oh, Mark, wouldn’t that be something? Your alma mater.”

  “No, no. It’s not Syracuse. It’s not another offer.”

  “Then what?”

  I take a deep breath and answer slowly, carefully. “What if we expanded our vision a bit? Looked at all the possible options. Including … not playing basketball.”

  “What?” Dad’s shout draws stares from the couple across the aisle.

  “Oh, good lord. Are you pregnant?”

  “What? No. Mom. What?”

  “Bev.”

  “Why else would she quit basketball?”

  “It’s a phase. Trust me. I went through it myself in high school. Thought maybe I’d like to take a year off before college. She’ll get over it.”

  I wave my hand between their faces. “Hello? I’m right here.”

  “She’d better, and soon. These schools aren’t going to wait forever on her decision.”

  “I’m right here! And it’s not a phase. It’s a serious proposition. I’m not saying I won’t play ball. I’m saying I want to at least consider what my future might look like if I didn’t.”

  “Well.” My mom huffs and shakes her head. “I don’t understand it. Has that Gerald boy been putting ideas in your head?”

  “It’s Jerod. And he has nothing to do with this.”

  “Then where is it coming from? Not play basketball? You love basketball.”

  I rest my head against my seat back. “I do. It’s just … I don’t know if I want the next five years of my life to revolve around it. Maybe there are bigger and better things out there for me.”

  Even as I say it, doubt creeps in. What things? Certainly not Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises.

  “Honey, do yourself a favor. Sign with one of these schools.” My dad rubs his knee. “A lot of high school athletes go through this, but it’ll pass, and you’ll be glad you did the smart thing.”

  I clench my teeth. He’s a cliché. Maybe I’m a cliché, too. The Spoiled High School Star Who Can’t Commit. “Can’t we at least entertain the idea that I might have other aspirations in life?”

  “Such as?” Mom asks. “What are these future plans? They must be quite grand since they apparently leave no room for the one thing you’ve spent your whole life training for.”

  “That’s just it!” I point at her. Finally, someone has put into words what’s been bothering me.

  “What’s it?”

  “I’ve been training all my life for one thing. And I appreciate it. I do. I know both of you have sacrificed a lot so I could play. But maybe I want to try some other things. Who knows? Maybe I’d be good at acting or vlogging or, say … running a business. How will I know if I have to spend all my time on the court?

  “You’re exaggerating.” Mom purses her lips. “You heard Coach Morris. You’ll have your classes and your homework and …” Her voice trails off.

  “Right. And that’s about it. There’s no time for anything else.”

  “You know, when I was in college, I spent all my spare time waitressing so I could afford to be there. You wouldn’t have to work at all. Yet you want to turn your nose up at a scholarship?”

  I close my eyes. Part of me wants to give in and say they’re right and tell them I’d rate the stupid campus a seven. It would be so much easier. But I can’t. I can’t let them control my fate. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s my life, my future. If it includes basketball, it will be because I’ve decided I want to play, not because other people expect me to.”

  Mom blinks hard. “Young lady, you’d better—”

  The flight attendant appears in the aisle directly in front of our row and starts demonstrating how to fasten our seat belts and put on our oxygen masks. We sit in silence as she pantomimes to a recording of the instructions, but I can feel my mother steaming beside me.

  Finally, as she finishes, Dad clears his throat. “You need to give this some serious thought, Lexi. You’ve worked hard to get to this point. Don’t throw it away for no good reason.”

  I grab his hand. “I will. I promise.” I turn to my mom. “I’m not doing this to hurt you, Mom. I swear. I’m just trying to figure stuff out. Whatever I decide, I hope you’ll support me. But regardless, I’m going to make this decision myself, and I’m going to do what makes sense for me.”

  “You said that? To your mom?” Chris gapes at me from across the booth at Italiano’s. He has a dab of tomato sauce on the side of his lips and I’m dying to reach over and wipe it off, but I force myself to stay focused.

  “It made for a tense flight home, but she’ll get over it.”

  Chris shakes his head. “I don’t know. We’re talking about your mom. The same woman who took away your phone for three weeks freshman year for talking back to her.”

  “Meh.” I nibble at my crust. “She’s already coming around.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. As I left to come here tonight, she yelled at me to drive carefully. It’s the first thing she’s said since we got back. I take it as progress.”

  “What about your dad?”

  I shrug. “He’s a little easier. He’ll be okay.”

  Chris gives me a sly grin. “How many times did he rub his bad knee on that flight?”

  I laugh and roll my eyes. “I counted sixteen. Which is about fourteen times more than on the flight up.”

  Chris finally wipes his mouth with his napkin, and I take a deep breath. I asked him to come out tonight for a reason, and it wasn’t to talk about my trip to U Conn. Standing up to my parents was tough, but it has made all the difference. I feel like I can breathe, and I’ve been dream-free for two nights. I’ve decided I need to clear the air one more time. I may not be able to tell Chris everything, but I do want to have a heart-to-heart with him about one thing.

  “Remember the last time we were here?”

  Chris squints as though he’s trying to place it.

  “I was sitting in my car, and you knocked on my window?”

  “Oh, yeah. I still don’t understand why you were ordering on your—” He stops, and his eyes light up. “Wait a minute. You were on a stakeout, weren’t you? Spying on someone. Who was it?” He cranes his neck and checks out the front window as though Brendon McDonough might still be sitting there four months later, slopping down his pizza.

  “Not important.” I give a dismissive wave of my hand. I won’t discuss clients or cases. Just because I was outed doesn’t mean their dirty laundry needs to be. “What’s important is something you said to me that night. I don’t know if you’ll remember it, but …” I blink hard and tug at my straw. “It pissed me off.”

  Chris leans across the table, his expression serious. “What did I say?” The concern in his voice is so palpable that part of me already regrets bringing it up. It was an offhand comment. Why make a big deal about it? Only it was more than that.

  “It was about me being a girl … or not. And—”

  “Oh, right. I remember.” Chris taps his forehead. “I’m sorry. I know what I said, and it was stupid. I mean, you were acting a little weird, but I get it now. S
uper spy and all.” He must read the confusion on my face because he holds up his hands to stop me from replying and rushes on. “But even if you didn’t have a reason to act weird, I shouldn’t have said it. It was sexist. And even if it wasn’t sexist, I probably shouldn’t have said it, because you’re allowed to have weird moments. Or days. Or weeks. I had no right to judge. I suck.”

  I squint, trying to process his apology. “Okay. But … what exactly are you talking about?”

  “That night. When I asked if you were … whether you were having your …?”

  “Ohhhh.” Of course. His remark about me acting like it was that time of the month. I’d forgotten all about it. I close my eyes and press the heels of my palms into my eyes. How did he go from asking me about my period one minute to insinuating I’m not even a girl the next? “That’s not what I was talking about. I mean, I appreciate the apology, though, ’cause that was kind of a rude thing to ask.”

  He pulls my hands from my face. “What then? What did I say?”

  I swallow hard, look him straight in the eyes, and spit it out. “You said you didn’t think I was a girl.”

  “No way.”

  “You said it. Right there in that booth.” I point to where we were sitting that night.

  He furrows his brow in thought and shakes his head. “No. I remember what I said, and that wasn’t it. Or at least, that wasn’t what I meant. Believe me, Lexi, I am well aware of your sex. I mean, your gender. Your … your ….” He waves in the general direction of my body. “Girl-ness.”

  I feel my face grow warm, but I press on. “So then what did you say? Or mean? Because it sure felt like you meant you didn’t think of me as a girl.”

  Chris pushes aside his plate and his drink and rests his forearms on the table between us. “I believe my exact words were something along the lines of, ‘It’s almost like you think you’re a girl.’ Because sometimes it seems like you … I don’t know. Fight it.”

  “Being a girl?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?”