Paula Stokes - The Art of Lainey

Inhaling deeply, I grab the bag of muffins from the passenger seat and start to slide out of the car. And then the condo door opens again and an arm wearing navy blue appears. Jason isn’t alone. He must be with the EMT who is training him. Alex. Yeah, that was the name. It conjures up images of a short, slightly pudgy, thirty-year-old guy. But when Alex comes into view, he’s anything but a boring old dude.

For starters, he’s a she.

The bag of muffins slips from my fingers and hits the street with a deafening crunch. Or maybe that was my heart breaking? I snap out of my shock and realize Jason and Alex haven’t noticed me. Slipping back inside the car, I pull the door closed slowly, praying neither of them will look in my direction. I slouch down in my seat, my eyes peeking out the bottom of the side window.

Alex is a few inches shorter than me, with hair so long and shiny that mine probably looks

like yarn in comparison. Hers is movie-star red, definitely from a box, but still gorgeous. Even through her EMT cargo pants and high-necked uniform shirt, I can tell she’s built like a lingerie model. Suddenly my stunner bra doesn’t seem very stunning.

I realize I’m gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles have blanched white. My whole body is shaking and my inner warlord is screaming things like attack and kill. I need to calm down before I punch a window and they see me. I try to channel my inner Bianca instead.

Maybe they’re carpooling. She probably has a boyfriend. How could a girl that pretty ever be single?

I loosen my grip from the wheel and shake out my fingers. Everything is going to be okay. My inner Bianca has to be right. He’s only been doing ride-alongs for a couple weeks. There’s no way he dumped me for a girl he just met.

I almost have myself convinced. Until Jason and Alex make it across the lawn to Jay’s convertible Mustang, and he presses her up against the side of the car playfully. And she laughs. And then he kisses her.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Image deleted,” I whisper. But it doesn’t go anywhere. It’s like a movie playing on the back of my eyelids. Jason and Alex kissing. Jason and Alex kissing. I squeeze tighter, scrunching up my whole face until I hear a car engine purr to life. It’s probably the Mustang but I’m taking no chances. I cannot handle one more second of them together. I stay slouched down in the driver’s seat for a count of one hundred. When I open my eyes, Jason and Alex are gone.

Bianca sits in our usual spot at Denali, the big, round table by the bookshelf. She’s sipping from one of Dad’s ceramic painted eco-mugs. It’s probably a skinny chai. Bianca loves chai.

As I approach, she looks up, a concerned frown forming on her face. “Do you want to go back to your house?” she asks immediately.

I can tell by the hippietastic music that my dad is here somewhere. He’s really big into tribal drums and monks chanting and stuff like that. Apparently it adds to the ambience.

“Nah, let’s stay here. My mom is at home, writing. Even if my dad comes around, you know him. He likes to steer clear of the girly drama.”

“Okay,” Bianca starts as I slide into a chair. “So was Jason mad you came over?” She toys with the end of her braid.

“I don’t know. I didn’t even talk to him.”

“Why not?”

I lower my voice. “He was leaving when I got there.” I sigh dramatically. “And he wasn’t alone.”

“What?” Bianca sucks a straw full of chai straight into her lungs. Her tan face turns bright red and she coughs for about three straight minutes.

“His ambulance partner,” I say. “Alex? Well, Alex is a girl. And they were leaving his place together at six thirty in the morning, so . . .”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just giving her a ride to work?” Bee takes another sip of her drink.

I wait until she swallows. “He kissed her.”

She gasps. “No way.”

“Yeah way.” Reality starts to set in for me. My life. My epic summer. It’s gone. It’s like I’m back in eighth grade, not making the soccer team. And this time it’s even worse because I didn’t mess anything up. I didn’t fall on my face at tryouts. I just . . . lost. I’m a loser.

I bite back tears. I will not freak out in the coffee shop again.

My dad strolls out from the back. “What’s this? Meeting of the minds?”

“Just girl talk.” I keep my voice light.

“Ah,” he says. “Covert ops. Carry on, ladies.” He makes a loop around the dining area, stopping to wipe down a few tables and ask a pair of college kids how their drinks taste. Then, satisfied that everyone seems content, he turns back toward the office.

Bee waits till my dad is out of sight. “You know what this means, right?”

That I’m a total loser? “That Jason is an asshole?”

“Well, maybe. More like if you want him back you have to step up your game.” She pauses. “Do you want him back?”

I lower my voice. “I do. Is that terrible? We’ve spent the last two and a half years together, Bianca. I don’t even know who I would be without him.”

“You would be my amazing friend, Lainey,” Bee says vehemently. “The same person you’ve been since second grade. Seriously. You don’t need Jason to define you.”

“You don’t think? Remember how the soccer team joked that instead of ‘Mitchell,’ my jersey should say ‘Chase’s girlfriend,’ because that’s how everyone knows me.” I slouch forward in my chair. “It’s more than that, though. I can’t imagine my life without him. It’s like I try, but nothing makes sense. Everything was perfect, and now everything is crap. I need him back. I need everything to go back to the way it was.”

Bee purses her lips together. I can tell she still doesn’t agree with me, but she’s not going to argue. “Okay,” she says. “Then we need a better plan.” She drums her fingernails on the table and stares off in the direction of the tribal masks.

They stare back. Grinning. Laughing at me.

Her eyes light up. “I’ve got it. Where’s your book?”

“The Art of War? I didn’t exactly think I would need that at Jason’s.” I wasn’t even planning on needing the muffins. I seriously thought after almost a whole week apart that Jay would miss me. Dude, who is this Alex girl and what does she have that I don’t?

“I knew you were going to say that. Which is why I downloaded a copy onto my phone.” Bianca pulls out her cell and starts swiping the screen.

“I’m not sure I’m up for ancient Chinese literature right now.” I sink even farther down in my chair.

“Come on, Lainey. I know you. Strategizing will make you feel better.”

“Maybe.” I’m not convinced, but if I go home I’ll end up face-down on my bed crying, which definitely won’t make me feel better. “Okay, but I’m going to need ice cream for this.” Pushing back my chair, I head through the back dining area and around to the front. I slide behind the counter and help myself to a big scoop of Caramel Meltaway, loading it down with whipped cream and chocolate-covered espresso beans. I grab a spoon and head back to the table.

Bianca frowns at my monster-sized dessert. “Are you expecting company?”

I down a big spoonful of nothing but whipped cream. The airy consistency makes me cough. “Obviously not,” I say. “I’ll probably be alone forever.”

Instead of responding, Bee opens The Art of War, scrolls to Part IX, and sets her phone down in front of me.

“‘The Army on the March’?” I scoff. I skim a few passages. “So I’m not supposed to attack Jason in a river or a salt marsh?”

“Keep going.”

“Or from the bottom of a mountain?” I take a bite of ice cream.

“Exactly,” she says.

“Exactly what?”

“This whole section is basically saying you have to be on even ground to fight. Or better yet, you want to be the girl on the mountaintop. Think of it like in soccer. If the field isn’t level, it’s easier to score when moving downhill.”

“Oh, I get it. Jason is dating someone new so he has the upper hand, the better position.”

“All we have to do is find you a guy to date and you’ll be back on level ground.” She smiles. “Then Jason will see you, get jealous, and voilá—you’ll be the one on top.”

“A guy to date,” I repeat slowly. I feel like eating my way to the bottom of this bowl of ice cream and then getting a refill. I feel like crawling into bed, pulling my covers up over my head, and crying myself to sleep. What I don’t feel like is finding a guy to date.

“Yes.” Bianca peers around Denali as if one of the college kids bent over their laptops is just going to turn around and volunteer.

“Wait,” I say. “What if the guy falls for me and gets all stalkerish, like when the Swedish exchange student got a crush on Kendall sophomore year?” I’m actually thinking more along the lines of what if I flirt with a guy and he blows me off and I get to experience that crushing rejection feeling all over again.

Bee slides the ice cream toward her, out of my reach.

“Get your own,” I whine, grabbing for the bowl.

“No. You are not doing this,” she informs me, her hand wrapped firmly around the base of the dish. “I’m not going to let you drown yourself in ice cream. Gaining ten pounds will not make you feel better.”

“Neither will dating some other guy,” I say. “Let me finish reading the book. Maybe it’ll give me a better idea.”

“All right,” Bee says. “You work tomorrow, right? We can talk more then.” She tucks her phone back into her purse and then gives me another quick hug. “Let’s get out of here before your dad puts us to work.”

As we head out the front door, Micah and the new guy, Leo, are strolling over from the parking lot. They look weird walking together: Micah and his mohawk, Leo and his baseball cap and polo shirt. Micah raises one hand in a half wave, and Leo mutters something that sounds like “Hiya.” They’re both smiling at Bee. Neither one of them even glances in my direction. Normally it would not faze me that I’m being ignored by kitchen weirdos.

Today it does.

“Nice to know my Invisible Woman costume still works,” I mumble. I can’t remember the last time I felt this alone.

The next day, Bianca and I grab the table by the bookshelf again after we finish our shift.

“I ordered us a barbecued chicken pizza,” she says as I settle into the chair across from her. “I figured we could go through The Art of War together, break it down, make a list.” She’s already got the book open on her phone.

I slide up a third chair and prop my feet on it. “Show me the way, Warlord Woman.” I pull The Art of War out of my purse. “I read the second half last night. The part about exploiting enemy weaknesses made sense, but then there was some stuff about spies and alliances that doesn’t seem as helpful.”

“All right. Let’s brainstorm strategies,” she says.

I flip through several dog-eared pages, reading certain passages as Bianca makes notes.

I’m on Part VII, Maneuvering, when Ebony strolls out of the back with our barbecued chicken pizza. She’s wearing camo pants, a black sleeveless tee, and a studded leather necklace that looks like a dog collar. I resist the urge to tell her that her head is looking particularly shiny today. She frowns at my feet as she sets the pizza and two plates in the middle of the table. “Try not to make a mess, okay?” Without waiting for a response she disappears into the back.

Snatching a chunk of chicken from the slice of pizza nearest to me, I flip to Part VIII, Variation in Tactics. “‘There are five dangerous faults which may affect a general,’” I say. “‘Recklessness, cowardice, a hasty temper.’” I pause. “‘A delicacy of honor? Over-solicitude’?”

“Pride and excessive worry,” Bianca translates, helping herself to a slice of pizza. “Maybe not exactly what Sun Tzu was thinking, but close enough for our purposes. So we need to make sure you avoid all of those feelings while you’re utilizing the rest of these strategies.”