The Breakup Artist (6 page)

“I live about ten minutes south of the school, near the city library.” My lack of a filter was simply stunning. Not only had I told this boy my real name, but I had given him a general idea of where I actually lived. This was not good for business at all, and something had to be done.

“Well, I need to get going,” I finally said through gritted teeth. “Can’t miss English . . . I’ll see you at lunch.” And with that I got up and quickly made my way to Mrs. Sanders’ class. At least there I’d have two hours to pull myself together so I could finish the job without any more blunders.

Today, much to my relief, we were watching a movie about a book we’d just read. Thank goodness for burned-out high school teachers who would rather check their email while we watched a movie instead of actually teaching us something. Mrs. Sanders definitely looked exhausted, and there was a little rumor flitting around the school that she had recently taken to drinking large quantities of alcohol in her living room while trying to grade papers. This rumor probably wasn’t true, since I didn’t know a single person who would want to spend their Friday night hiding out in a teacher’s living room, but it definitely made for interesting gossip. At least, it was good gossip for people who actually had friends to gossip with. I waved away my pang of self-pity and took a deep breath, preparing myself to dive headfirst into my newly developed problem named David while the rest of the class pretended to watch the reenactment of a classic novel.

All right, so, David knew my name and sort of knew where I lived. No big deal, I could always get rid of him quickly and just never answer my door again. This boy wouldn’t pose a threat to my business or me because I wouldn’t let him. Besides, he probably just liked me and wanted to get to know me more. I’d broken up with enough guys for enough girls to know how their minds worked. All I had to do was tell him his girlfriend wanted to break up with him. It wasn’t that hard, just a few simple words, to be exact. And who cares if I don’t do it gently and he gets his heart broken? Well . . . I suppose I did, and Claire did. The only reason I even have a job is so that boys don’t get hurt by the breakup or at least don’t feel like it was their girlfriend’s fault. So just ending it without somehow making it seem all right was out of the question.

I tapped my thumb impatiently against the desk, causing a few people to turn and throw me dirty looks. I gave them a too-bright smile and continued tapping away, un-phased by their unvoiced threats. Besides, none of these people knew who I was anyway, and by next week I’d probably have a different hair color and personality. They probably just wondered why they kept getting a new student every week who sat in the same place in their English class.

When the bell finally rang for lunch, I had no real plan and absolutely no idea what I was doing. I bought a bag of chips and a bottle of water so that, if need be, I could stuff my face when David asked difficult questions, which I assumed he inevitably would. Seeing David, I sat down next to him, allowing myself to actually look at him and size up his threat level. David was definitely good looking; there was no denying that fact. Even someone like me who never noticed that kind of thing could tell that he would be the type of boy girls fell in love with and swore their favorite songs described perfectly. Today his shaggy blond hair hung in his eyes. He would absently run his fingers through it to get it out of the way, doing it all with a small crooked smile. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, despite the day’s perfect weather.

I decided that, while sitting next to him, I should probably just refrain from breathing because I could smell his perfect scent with every inhale. It wasn’t even a smell that I could describe. It was just perfect. It had the sharp dominance of cologne, with the soft undertones of a person’s natural aroma. No matter what I called it, it was wonderful. And it was definitely clouding my head and making my job much more difficult. This boy had to go. Steeling myself, I turned to face him, ignoring his brilliant green eyes.

“So Claire and I have been hanging out a lot lately and I think she—”

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” His interruption was so sudden and so final that I had to actually sit there for a minute and think about what he’d just said.

“Maybe this weekend?” he went on. “We could go grab a bite to eat.” I furrowed my brow and tilted my head to the side in confusion, still not comprehending his words.

“What about Claire?” I asked, suddenly finding my voice again.

“Oh her? We broke up earlier today. It just wasn’t working out. So how about it? I mean, I’m sure it makes me seem like a pretty big jerk to ask you out right after I broke up with your friend but I think you’re really interesting.” His words were spoken in English and I was sure they were forming complete sentences, but I still couldn’t understand anything he was saying.

“You broke up with Claire?” was all I could manage.

“Yeah. I don’t know if she’s said anything to you but we haven’t been getting along very well lately.” I shook my head dumbly, not really sure what I was shaking it at.

“Yeah but
you
broke up with
her
?” He nodded more slowly this time, as if I wouldn’t understand what the gesture meant if he sped it up—which was probably true. But what I couldn’t understand was what this meant for me. Did I fail in my job? Would Claire be mad? Was this amazingly good-looking boy really asking me out? Would that be ethical to go somewhere with a job? All of these questions raced through my mind, muddling it so completely that I didn’t even notice when the bell rang for biology.

“I’ll just take that as a yes and see you at eight on Saturday.” And with that he was gone, and I was screwed.

“Yeah, I need you to break up with my boyfriend Blane for me.” She handed over some information on the boy, and I dug my normal required fact sheet from my locker and gave it to her in turn.

“I need you to fill that out and give it to me tomorrow, along with a picture of the boy and your phone number so I can call you for any further information I need,” I said mechanically. The cheerleader gave me an odd look at this statement but didn’t say anything and simply took the paper.

“Um, Blane likes blondes . . . is that a problem?”

I laughed at this statement and shook my head.

“I’ll change it tonight. You do know I’m charging fifty, since it’s so close to prom, right?” She simply nodded and handed over a wad of cash. I counted it quickly and stuck out my hand. She shook it with a smile and the deal was made.

I didn’t spot David at all that day, which worried me beyond all belief. If I couldn’t find him by tomorrow, then there was actually a chance that this boy would somehow show up on my doorstep on Saturday. Even without knowing my address, I wouldn’t put it past him to mysteriously know exactly where I lived without having to ask anyone. This fact was unsettling and the burning blonde color stripper in my hair didn’t help to ease my discomfort. I always hated having to go from black to blonde overnight. It sometimes left my hair with an orange-ish tint that took a while to cover up. Tonight though, the fates smiled on me, and my hair turned a prissy platinum blonde without leaving me bald.

I removed the black nail polish and replaced it with bright pink, which meant I had to walk around my room with those uncomfortable foam toe separators on my feet while spreading my fingers like some sort of flying squirrel trying to take off. I skimmed through my extensive wardrobe and picked out a white pleated skirt that cut off several inches above my knee and a bubblegum pink tank top. I threw some hot pink stiletto heels into the mix and was done with my work assignment for that night.

Lexi Monroe, which turned out to be the cheerleader’s name (though I would have been just fine calling her cheerleader), had managed to send a picture of her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend from her phone to my email address. I hadn’t given her my email address, but since it was simply my full name, I guess it wasn’t that hard to figure it out. Her resourcefulness did surprise me, though. So, with her picture and fact sheet to guide me, I figured I could start this project tomorrow, even though I usually avoided working on a Friday, since it could sometimes run over into my uneventful weekends. This was my exception. I had to get back on my game or I was doomed. All right, so maybe I wasn’t doomed, but I was definitely in danger of losing my self-confidence.

I glanced at the fact sheet before me and tried to think of my plan of attack.

Name—Blane

Age—18

POI—Football, Parties, Cars

Deadline—Tuesday

Though the deadline was slightly shocking, his POIs were almost laughably predictable. It was like a jock stereotype straight out of a movie. I looked them over one more time to make sure I hadn’t invented them simply by expecting them to be there, and sure enough, there they were in all of their unsubstantial glory. Then again, I suppose someone without an original thought in her head doesn’t have much room to make fun of the interests of others.

I shook my head, figuring I could lure this one away simply by bending over in front of him in my less-than-modest skirt. It was definitely the easy way out, but Lexi never specified how I had to get rid of him, just that it had to be done so that his best friend could ask her to prom.

I checked the number on the fact sheet so that I could confirm tomorrow’s breakup with Lexi. There’s nothing worse than trying to break up with a boy and having their girlfriend show up halfway through. I dialed the number on my now pink cell phone.

“This is Lex,” said a chipper voice. I wondered why on earth she’d need to shorten Lexi. After all, wasn’t Lexi the shortened version of Alexis or something? Perhaps the four letters were still too strenuous for her, and she needed the three letters to keep it simple.

“Hey Lexi, it’s Amelia,” I said professionally. “I was just calling to confirm that you won’t be in school tomorrow so that I can get rid of Blane for you.”

“What? No you can’t do it tomorrow! He’s throwing a party this weekend and I want to be able to say good-bye properly.”

This news shocked me slightly, and I didn’t even want to think about what her last statement entailed, so I simply said, “Really? Well, if you need it done by Tuesday I should start working on it.”

“I don’t care. I thought you did this stuff in one day anyway? Why can’t you just do it Monday?” I sighed deeply and tried to control my temper. Some people really thought I was a miracle worker—they never took into account illness, or the fact that not all breakups take one neat little forty-minute lunch break.

“If you want me to start on Monday then I’m going to have to ask you to move the deadline to Wednesday as a precaution.” There was some audible grumbling on the other line, which annoyed me, but she finally gave in.

“Fine. Do whatever you need to do.” Then the line went dead. She had hung up on me. My annoyance wasn’t at the fact that she was being ungrateful and unrealistic, but rather the fact that she didn’t seem to think that I could possibly lure her boyfriend away from a catch as great as her. I rolled my eyes at the cheerleader’s unjustified confidence and tossed my phone into the big white leather purse I’d been planning to use for school tomorrow.

It then instantly struck me that I didn’t have a job tomorrow. David had broken up with Claire, so I didn’t have to worry about him, and I couldn’t start work on Blane until Monday. I could wear whatever I wanted tomorrow. But what on earth did I want to wear? I rarely dressed for myself. The only time I wasn’t working was usually weekends and then I’d just stay in sweats and paint for two days straight. With this exciting new prospect of dressing myself in mind, I opened up my closet and looked through the many different styles.

I finally settled for nondescript blue jeans, a gray fitted T-shirt, some black and white tennis shoes, and a long, thin, white muslin scarf. I completed this outfit with a knitted white beret to stuff my newly dyed blonde hair into. Tomorrow I was definitely going for invisible, and maybe that way David wouldn’t find me and he’d forget about our “date.”

The next day at school I was met with a very unwelcome sight at my locker, which looked like it was turning into a meeting spot for my clients. Claire stood, arms crossed over her chest, eyes burning a hole through my head. I approached cautiously, not quite sure what I’d done to merit this less-than-congenial greeting.