Philip Siegel - The Break-Up Artist

“What do you think would’ve happened if Ilsa didn’t get on that plane? She and Rick would’ve gotten bored with each other once things died down.” I rein myself in. I’m already breaking up with the guy. I don’t have to ruin his favorite movie. “I’m sorry, Ezra. You’re a good guy, honestly.”

“Thanks.”

That wasn’t so bad. Maybe messy break-ups are only for immature people.

“I know I don’t have any business asking you any favors, but this time, when you break up with Val, please do it in person. She’s a good person, and she deserves that much.”

“Who says I’m breaking up with Val?” Ezra takes a bite of his donut. He rubs the smear of chocolate frosting from the corner of his mouth and licks it off his fingers.

“What? But you aren’t into her!”

“Val and I have had our ups and downs, but maybe there’s something there.”

“There isn’t.” Five minutes ago, he was all set to break up with her. It will get done. He was ready to cross it off his list like taking out the trash. Now he flipped a switch, and he’s back on the “falling in love with Val” track?

“I have to give things a real chance.”

“And then you’re just going to dump her when something better comes along?”

“You make it sound so crass. I can’t control the way I feel.”

“You’re disgusting.” I was going to get something to drink, but now I just want to leave. This can’t be the same Ezra I swooned over, but here he is, in all his selfish glory. “You think you’re some expert on romance, but you don’t know anything.”

“You’ve never had a boyfriend. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right. I’ve never had a boyfriend. But you’ve gone through multiple girlfriends. Whenever things stop being all first kisses and warm gooey centers, you bail. You hit one tiny bump in the road, and you’re on to the next.” He’s gone before you know it, Isabelle told me at the party. She was plastered, but still, she was right. He probably thinks one argument will lead him to the relationship his parents had. I shake my head, angrier at myself than him.

The high I had been on comes to a startling, crashing halt. “I’m such an idiot. I actually started to believe all that shit about love.”

Diane has never been more right.

The real Ezra looks up and to the left. It’s no longer cute. It just makes him look like a brat. He doesn’t say anything back. He’s not used to being criticized. He preys on girls so eager to be loved, so hungry for a boyfriend, they’d never say a mean thing about him. And my best friend is his current victim. He’ll keep stringing Val along until he finds someone else. I won’t let him give her any more firsts.

“I’m telling Val,” I say.

“Telling her what?”

“Everything.” I head toward the door. Ezra runs in front of me and blocks the passageway.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” he asks. “You think I’m the one she’s going to be mad at?”

“You think she’ll be mad at me?”

“Her best friend hooks up with her boyfriend behind her back. She’ll never forgive you. I had a temporary lapse in judgment. I was upset by our recent fights and ran into your open, waiting arms. You should’ve known better.”

He’s right, and we both know it. He grins like a sore winner. What was I thinking?

“Do you think Val will willingly go back to being single?”

My eyes widen with shock. I made out with the scum of the earth. Multiple times.

“You are pathetic,” I say, though I don’t know which one of us I’m talking to.

* * *

My mom has a dinner plate covered in plastic waiting for me. She and my dad watch Love Actually—she on the Throne, he on the couch. Never cuddled together, of course. Maybe they have the right idea. They gave each other a normal life in the burbs with all the trappings. They didn’t let some fruitless search for love constantly upend their lives.

“Becca, where are you going?” my mom asks.

I stop at the foot of the stairs with my dinner in hand. “I’m going to eat in my room. I’m really tired.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just had a long weekend.”

The phone rings when I’m halfway to the second floor.

“Becca, can you get that?” my mom asks. It will take an act of nature to pull either of my parents from their seats—a downside to owning comfy furniture.

I pick up the kitchen phone hung next to the fridge. “Hello?”

“Hello, Rebecca Williamson.”

And I just stepped on a land mine. I grab the fridge door to steady myself. I know that voice, and I shouldn’t be hearing it on the house line.

“Mr. Towne?”

I run into my mom’s alteration room with the phone and lock the door.

“How did you get this number?”

“I’m not the best with technology, but I got a buddy who was able to track something called an IP address to your computer. Found your computer and your name as the registered user. As for your actual number, I just looked you up in the phone book.” Mr. Towne speaks in a genial, chatty manner, barely concealing a menacing undertone. For the first time, I’m scared.

“I’d prefer if we kept our correspondence limited to email,” I say.

“I wanted to, as well, but this is just taking too long, and I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy. But I’m taking care of it.” I look at my hand, and I’m still gripping the doorknob. I can’t move from this spot.

“You’ve been saying that for over two months. I feel like I’m getting the runaround, and I don’t appreciate it. May fifteenth is this Friday.”

I want to hang up. I never want to hear his voice again, never answer another break-up email. “I—I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” I say, trying my hardest to control the shaking in my voice.

“You’re so close. Steve went down to Texas to visit this weekend. He’s loving football again. But the kid got drunk and blabbed to everyone who’d listen about his girlfriend and how he’s so in love with her and couldn’t leave her.”

Hearing that provides me with a fleeting smile. I wish I could tell Huxley. “I’ll give you a refund.”

“I’m not interested.”

I pace around the room, hop in place, but I can’t get calm. There’s no protocol for when your true identity gets discovered.

“I think he’s in love with her.”

“You and I both know that’s a boatload of crap. It’s not love, never is,” Mr. Towne says. “You agreed to do this, Rebecca.”

My voice becomes more erratic. “Why do you want to break them up? Why can’t you just leave them alone?”

“Are you rooting for the lovebirds now?” He lets out a hearty chortle that pierces my eardrum. “Let me provide you with better incentive. If Steve chooses Vermilion on Friday, then I will make sure that every student and parent and Burger King employee in your town knows what you’ve been up to, Miss Break-Up Artist. I don’t think high-school life will be so much fun after that.”

Before I can say anything, he hangs up. When I *69 him, his number comes up as unlisted. I go upstairs, walk into my bedroom without turning on the lights and crawl into bed. I pull the covers up over my head.

I march through Monday perpetually on edge. Each second of the day is spent mentally preparing myself. Ms. Hardwick drops her dry-erase marker, and I nearly shoot into the ceiling. She asks me if I’m okay.

“I’m fine.”

Except for my life teetering on the verge of utter ruin.

At lunch, Greg will not shut up about the weekend at Chandler. He leaves out any mention of the party Saturday night. Huxley and Steve focus on their plates, both embarrassed for different reasons. It’s sweet how much they care about each other’s feelings.

Finally, after what seems like a week, the day is over. I pull Huxley aside before we get changed for the final SDA rehearsal. I sit her down on a bench by the main office, a place where nobody will interrupt us. I don’t have to beg for a moment of her time anymore.

“Have you spoken to Steve about the weekend at all?”

“No. He won’t bring it up. Which means he had an amazing time, probably with one of those blondes.” Huxley hides her face in her hands.

“I have to tell you something. But promise you won’t say I told you.”

She springs back to life. “I promise.”

And because we’re such good friends, I trust her. “I overheard Steve and the coach talking a while back. Steve is having trouble affording Vermilion. They didn’t offer him any scholarships.”

I think back to my reconnaissance in the boys’ locker room. I was so excited. I was so stupid.

“He never told me,” she says.

“Maybe that’s what’s stopping him from going. Chandler University is probably offering him a full ride.”

I study Huxley, watching as the wheels turn in her head.

“Do you think that’s really all it is? Chandler has football.”

“He’d only be going because he could afford it. He doesn’t want football. He wants you,” I say. I’m only telling a partial lie, but that doesn’t make me feel better. My chest tightens. “He loves you, Huxley.”

“My family could pay for it no problem. Steve would never go for it, though.”

“Only if you made him ask you for the money.”

Huxley strums her fingers against her knee as she contemplates the idea.

“If Steve goes to Chandler University, then you know what will happen to your relationship. Do you want to let him go over dollars and cents?” I stop talking. I can’t be too pushy.

We sit there in silence for a minute. We hear the echoes of our teammates warming up. Huxley glances at me, a smile emerging, one full of hope.

“Steve does like surprises,” she says. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Bile rises in my throat, but not before I say, “What are friends for?”

There’s no time left. All my hard work pays off tonight. As unsure as I may be, I have to go through with it.

Tonight, I dance.

“I am going to have a talk with the principal. They have some nerve making girls wear this getup.” My mom stares at me in my stripper-pole tracksuit costume. I should agree with her that this outfit is a total affront to feminism, but I look so good in it, I can’t complain.

“It has to be like this, so we can dance,” I say. I load up on hair spray to get my hair into the tight bun required.

“You wear it well, I guess.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

We pass Diane’s room on our way downstairs. Her door is shut. I can make out the laugh track blaring on her TV. I hear it more often now, since Diane has given up the Throne. She’s treating our house like a hotel, and I’m just another random guest.

My mom knocks on her door. “Diane, we’re leaving for Becca’s show. Are you coming with us?”

We trade looks, neither of us hopeful. My dad joins us, tapping his watch, but quickly he gets the holdup.

My mom has to knock on the door again to get a response.

“Yeah. Give me one second!” Diane yells through the door.

“I’m worried,” my dad says, always a bit behind current events.

“Maybe it’s Sankresh’s wedding coming up,” my mom says.

“Did you ever detect any problems between Diane and Sankresh?”

My mom’s cheerful demeanor fades, and she gets serious, diplomatic almost. “No couple is perfect.” I can sense the slight pain in her voice. I wonder if my parents knew it before they reserved a church.

“Why didn’t you try to stop them?” I ask, anger rising toward my parents. Did they know this was going to happen? Why didn’t I?

“We couldn’t,” my mom says.

“Don’t worry. She’ll get back on that saddle,” my dad says, totally unaware of how girls think.

“What if she doesn’t?” my mom asks. “What if she stays like this?”

“Single?” I ask. “I’d rather her be single and happy than married and miserable.”

“But she’s not happy.”

The door bursts open, and Diane whooshes out in a wrinkled outfit. “You can stop talking about me. I’m ready.”

* * *

Students and parents crowd the gym floor, looking for friends and seats. I gave my parents strict instructions where to sit so they’d have a clear view of me. Fingers crossed they remember.

Nerves and adrenaline inject an extra skip in my step. Fifth row up, Val and Ezra take a seat. I stare at her, hoping she will sense my presence, but Val won’t make eye contact. She and Ezra canoodle in plain sight, their goal of proving me wrong no doubt bringing them closer together.