Paula Stokes - The Art of Lainey

“You could probably get a soccer scholarship somewhere. Didn’t you get scouted last year?”

She sighs again. “Not by anyone good. And I’m not even sure I want to play soccer at college.”

“What? Why?” Kendall is one of those girls who are naturally good at sports. She hasn’t practiced all summer, but when she comes home she’ll still dribble rings around me. I can’t believe she’s thinking of giving it up.

“I don’t know. I feel like soccer is a high school thing. I want college to be a whole new life, you know? But I want to go someplace cool, like NYU,” she says. “We did a shoot with some of their photography students yesterday. It was amazing.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having some fun at least.”

“What? Hang on.” Kendall says something harsh to someone in the background. She’s probably giving the finger to one of her housemates or some poor production assistant. “Apparently my time is almost up,” she says. “But, hey. My mom’s doing the annual trip to Costa Rica again this August. Ask your parents if you can come. You could crash in my room . . . or my brother’s. The time-share is paid for so all you’d need to do is save enough for the airfare. Maybe the right atmosphere would heat things up again between you and Jay.”

I imagine a full week partying on the beach with Kendall and Jason while their mom downs glasses of expensive champagne on the veranda. Me in my tiniest bikini. Jason just buzzed enough to find me irresistible. Sun. Surf. Sand. Sex. Talk about exploiting my enemy’s weaknesses. Not to mention dividing and conquering. It would work, but there’s no way I can afford it.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t come up with that kind of money. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. Bianca and I are kind of working on a plan.” I’m glad Kendall is out of phone time. I don’t feel like listening to her make fun our Dead Chinese Warlord strategies. Better to wait until they work and then tell her the good news.

“Bianca? What does she know about dating?”

“She’s really smart, Kendall. She knows a lot about everything. We’ve been practicing soccer together while we strategize, and her footwork has really improved too. I’m trying to get her to try out for the Archers with us this year.”

Kendall makes a snorting sound. “Smart doesn’t make you good at dating, Lainey. Or soccer. Bianca seems nice and all, but she’s only been on varsity for a year—not exactly select team material.”

I start to protest, but Kendall swears under her breath. “I have to go,” she repeats. “They’re threatening to take my phone or kick me off or some shit. Stupid rules. I swear! Anyway, do what you have to do, but do it quick, because the longer you and Jason stay apart, the harder it’s going to be to get back together.”

She’s right. I know it.

I have to step up my game or I could lose Jason forever.

Two days pass and Jason still doesn’t call. I spend my downtime at work rereading highlighted passages from The Art of War. I remind myself not to be reckless or afraid or prideful or obsessively worried.

“Get this.” Micah slides a tray of Death-by-Chocolate-Moose Brownies in the pastry case. They smell like my grandma’s house, warm and sweet. My mouth starts to water.

“Yeah?” I shake the contents of the blender into a tall eco-friendly cup and top it with an uneven spiral of whipped cream.

“Leo and I both worked last night, and I might have told him about our plan.” Micah shuts the case with a click.

The can of whipped cream slides out of my fingers and rolls across the counter, leaving a trail of white foam behind. The girl waiting for her blended ice coffee taps her dark purple fingernails on the counter and stares at me.

“Micah!” I hiss. “Wasn’t that rule number one? This was supposed to be our secret.” I put a lid on the drink and hand it to the girl.

“Straw?” she asks, as if I’m the world’s biggest idiot.

“Over by the napkins,” I snap back, like she’s not very smart herself.

Micah pulls a towel out of his back pocket and swipes at the trail of whipped cream. “What’s the big deal? You told Bianca.”

“Bianca basically came up with the plan. The big deal is that if word gets out this isn’t real, it’ll get back to our exes and we’ll look like idiots.”

“I’m sorry, but he knows we’ve been hanging out,” Micah says. “Would you rather I told him some of those PG-13 stories?”

My face gets hot. I glance quickly around the front of the coffee shop. Ebony at her usual table, sipping a latte and reading the Riverfront Times. Monochrome Girl rocking a mix of plum and indigo hunched over her computer. Five tribal masks grinning demonically. No one is paying us any attention.

“Okay. So you told him. So what?” I start mentally calculating how many people Leo could tell, and how many they could tell, and how many degrees of separation there are between practically invisible Leo and soccer superstar Jason Chase.

Micah picks up on the look on my face. “No, it’s cool. He was actually wondering if you might be willing to fake-date him too.”

“What?” I screech. “Why? I’m pretty sure Leo hasn’t spoken one word to me since he started working here.”

“Chill,” Micah says, lowering his voice. “It’s kind of a hard thing to ask a girl to do, but since you’re already doing it . . . He figured you’d say no, but he’s willing to pay you and everything.”

“Pay me?” The image of me and Jason on a beach in Costa Rica, half naked, both of us with drinks in our hands, flashes before my eyes. “Does he think I’m a hooker?”

Micah’s eyes flick momentarily to the hem of my miniskirt. He coughs into his hand. “Why would he think that?” He ducks out of the way as I go to slug him and then continues, “Forget it. I’ll tell him you’re not down with the idea.” He swings his towel in a circle as he heads back to the kitchen.

“Hang on,” I say. “Tell him I’ll think about it.” After all, I am supposed to be seizing opportunities that arise. “What about us? It’s your turn. Dare I ask where you’ll be taking me next?”

“Don’t worry.” Micah snaps his towel at me and I jump back. “I’m working on something for us,” he says. “I’ll be in touch.”

It’s a couple of days later when Leo and I both work an opening shift.

“So,” I say, hopping up onto the prep table, my hip just inches from the edge of the cutting board. I can’t help but grin. There’s something empowering about knowing a guy wants to date you, even if it’s only for pretend.

The knife blade wobbles in Leo’s hand, but he keeps dicing. “So,” he says back. His pile of tiny ham cubes grows in size.

I look him over. He’s about six feet tall with brown hair and gray eyes. Not thin, not fat. Jeans. Polo shirt. Nice tan. There’s nothing wrong with him. There’s just nothing that really stands out about him either.

“Micah says you have a proposition for me.” I pluck a piece of ham from the top of the mountain and pop it in my mouth. The saltiness makes me wince.

Leo nods. He adjusts the brim of his cap. “Two hundred up front,” he blurts out. “Another two hundred if it actually works.”

The ham tries to lodge itself in my windpipe. I cough hard. “You’re willing to pay me four hundred dollars to hang out with you a few times?” That’s more than half the airfare to Costa Rica. “You do realize this is all pretend, right?”

“Yep.” He slices the ends off a white onion and peels back the skin. “Getting Riley back would be worth every penny, and then some.”

My eyes immediately start to water. “You saved all that money working here?” I feel a little guilty about potentially fleecing him. I know nothing about his ex-girlfriend or why they broke up. What if she dumped him because he was a terrible kisser or because she turned lesbian?

“I work a second job in the summer. Landscaping. It pays pretty good.”

“Why’d you guys break up?” It suddenly occurs to me I was so focused on my own problem of getting Jason back that I never bothered to ask Micah why he and Amber broke up. I should probably do that.

“She’s a year older than me and started taking college classes at the beginning of summer. She said it just felt like we were growing apart.”

“Well, there’s no guarantee I can help you. I mean, it’s not like I’ve helped Micah much yet.”

Leo shrugs. “I’m a pretty patient guy. And Micah said he found you . . . entertaining.”

“He did, huh?” I hop down from the prep table and flip the brim of Leo’s baseball hat to the back. Peeling the label off a can of chickpeas, I write my phone number on the back. “Let me know what you have in mind and I’ll see what I can do.”

I decide two hundred bucks up front is too good to pass up, so when Leo texts me Thursday night asking if I want to go to a play at Hazelton Forest University, I don my most studious outfit and call him back to confirm.

“What are we going to see?” I ask, straightening the pleats of my plaid miniskirt.

“The Tragedy of Faust,” he says. “Part One.”

I wrinkle up my nose. “Sounds tragic.”

“You don’t know the story?” Leo’s voice raises at the end, as if he can’t believe I’m not an expert on classic literature.

“I’m more into current theater, like movies.”

“I think you might like it,” he says. “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”

I give Leo directions to my house and then peek my head into the study. My mom is sitting at her computer, half buried behind a stack of textbooks. Handwritten notes on yellow lined paper are splayed out around her. A collection of painted coffee mugs lines the left side of the desk, the nearest one venting wisps of steam into the air. She frowns at her computer screen.

“Hey, Mom. I’m going to Hazelton Forest to see a play.” I fiddle with the collar of my button-up shirt.

She looks up, her lips pursed as if maybe she’s heard me wrong. “With Jason?”

“No, with a friend of mine from Denali.”

She spins her chair around so she’s facing me and reaches out for the steaming mug. “I haven’t seen Jason in a while.”

“Yeah. We sort of broke up.”

“And you’re all right with that?” She sips from the mug.

Leaning against the door frame, I cross my arms. “No, but I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Well, Jason is charming, but you’re both young . . .”

Oh, brother, here we go. “I should let you get back to work,” I say brightly, edging my way back out into the hallway.

“Just remember, I’m here if you ever do want to talk,” she calls after me. “With your brother gone, I feel almost like I’ve been slacking in the parental department.”

I peek my head around the corner again. “No chance. You’re the least slackingest person I know.”

“Says the daughter with the blue hair. Your father and I were hoping that was a clip-on or a barrette, but it never seems to go away. Are there any other bodily alterations I should know about?” Her voice is light but I can hear concern in her words.

“It’s a clip-in extension I can take out whenever. And no other alterations, I promise.” I flash her a quick smile. “You don’t need to worry. I’m totally fine.” I dart back to the living room before she can ask any follow-up questions.

I wish I were as fine as I’m pretending to be, but hearing my mom tell that classic mom parable about other fish in the sea is not going to help right now. Collapsing onto the sofa, I try to relax to the beat of her fingers tapping out her latest masterpiece.

Grabbing my phone, I text Bianca. She knows about my plans tonight.

This Leo date. I feel weird about it.

It takes her a few minutes to respond. She’s probably working the register.

Is it the money?

Is it? I suppose it could be.

Maybe.

So then don’t take it.

That’s what Bee would do, help Leo out of the goodness of her heart. But Costa Rica . . . so much time alone with Jason . . .