The Break-Up Artist

9

It’s not until after dinner that Mr. Towne pops up online. I email him back asking to video chat. He asks for ten minutes, which gives me enough time to set up. I tape a black blanket to the mirrored sliding door behind me to eliminate all traces of personality from my surroundings. I pull out my grandfather’s vintage suitcase from under my bed and remove my costume: my raccoon mask and Diane’s old graduation robe. As I slip them on, I contemplate who this Mr. Towne could be. A vengeful father? A frustrated teacher or disgruntled janitor?

But it’s none of the above. Mr. Towne looks exactly like a Mr. Towne would. He’s an adult dressed in full dad attire—baby-blue polo buttoned all the way up and tucked into khakis with his gut protruding. Thinned hair, creased face, but a boyish smile. Despite his age, he still looks fitter than some guys in my school. He sits at his desk and doesn’t say a word.

“’Ello love,” I say in my British accent.

“I didn’t know you were British. I assumed French,” he says, totally calm. It’s making me nervous. He leans back in his chair. “Is that what you normally wear?”

“Um, no. It’s my work uniform.”

“You really British?”

“Why, of course!”

He stares at me, his gray eyes coalescing into a steely glare. “I get it. Gotta protect yourself.”

“Is Mr. Towne your real name?” I ask him.

“Does it matter?”

He flashes me that boyish grin, dimples caving in both cheeks. He was probably Steve Overland thirty years ago. His high-school sweetheart and three kids are probably down the hall singing Bible hymns.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I have no idea who you are, and I don’t care to know so long as you get the job done. So let’s stop prying and get down to business.”

I exhale in relief. Most of the awkwardness has left the room. “Why does a fortysomething man want to break up some high-school couple?”

“Why do you need to know?”

I’ve never had to pry information from a potential client like this. I’m not interested in competing in a “who’s more paranoid” contest. “Do you want me to do my job or not?”

We have a stare-off. I won’t let him dictate how I run my business. He cracks first.

“I’m a family friend of the Overlands. I was there when Stevie got his first tooth and first touchdown. I’m always looking out for him. And right now, I’m worried about his relationship with his girlfriend. His family does not like her at all. They think she’s snooty and controlling.”

I nod. Sounds like they know Huxley well.

“I understand first love and hormones and all that nonsense, but Stevie gave up a football scholarship to a well-known university to go to some local college close to her. His parents have tried to talk to him about what a big mistake he’s making. But he won’t listen. That girl’s got him wrapped around her finger. So...”

“You need my help?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if this is just some prank you’re pulling, but we’re out of options. All college admissions decisions become binding May 15. That’s less than three months out. I don’t want the kid to throw his life away.”

“Vermilion is a good school, I’ve heard,” I say. Steve wore a pine-green Vermilion sweatshirt to school when he got accepted. I couldn’t care less, but it caused murmurs in the guy corners of my classes. My mom said Vermilion was an overpriced liberal-arts school that charges an arm and a leg just to remain exclusive. It’s not ranked that high in college guides, but Huxley likes telling people otherwise.

“Vermilion is Division 3, barely,” Mr. Towne says. He rests his hands on his gut. “Steve should be at a D1 school like Chandler University in Texas. He has the talent. That’s where the real recruiting for pro is done.” Mr. Towne’s cheeks flush with red.

“You think if he and Huxley are broken up, he’ll go to one of those schools?”

“Definitely. That kid was born to play football, and he knows it. The only thing stopping him is right between that girl’s legs. Excuse my language.”

I shake that mental image out of my head. Huxley and Steve. She has him, the whole school, wrapped around her finger. She won’t give that up. Not before senior prom and graduation, the two most public events in her high-school career. Some people begin dating just so they have a boyfriend or girlfriend on hand for those occasions.

“You still there?” he asks.

I grunt in response.

“So can you do it?”

“I don’t know.” I bite my lip. So much for my comfortable, calm demeanor.

“What do you mean? You have done this before, right?”

“These two are different. They are like this impenetrable fortress. I don’t think Huxley will let anything come between them. She would know if someone was messing with her.”

“You can start a rumor or something.”

“She would use her minions to squash it and then hunt down whoever started it.” Lena Herman started a rumor that Huxley was using laxatives to slim down, and Huxley found out that same week. Lena transferred to Catholic school a month later...and she’s Jewish!

“I was hoping you were the real deal.”

“I am, but I don’t know if they can be broken up.” Or maybe I don’t know if I can do it. If I get made, she’ll be out for blood. And she’s brainwashed the school, so they’d chase me out the front doors with burning pitchforks. You have to know your limits sometimes.

“I’m giving you my honest, semiprofessional opinion.”

“What if I tripled your rate? Three hundred dollars?”

My eyes widen at the thought of three hundred dollars. But then Huxley’s face pops into my head, and the money fades away. “If Steve’s family can’t sway his decision, what makes you think I can?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “It sounds like you’re scared of her.”

“Scared of her? No way!”

“You’re making excuses when you know this girl is no good.”

I get a short burst of pleasure hearing him say that. I’m not the only one who thinks she’s awful. “She’s just annoying.”

“I remember there was this bully when I went to high school.” Mr. Towne leans back in his chair, and it looks like he’s reaching back decades for the memory. “He loved picking on anyone with a pocket calculator. No one ever fought back. Until one day, this scrawny kid walked right up to him in the lunchroom and gave him a bloody nose. No warning, no hesitation. The whole room busted out laughing at him. And you know what that bully did in return?”

“What?”

“He left me and my friends alone for the rest of high school.”

I was expecting him to be the bully. But then, who knows, this could all just be made up, or stolen from some episode of The Andy Griffith Show.

“Listen, I need to know. Can you make this happen?” Mr. Towne doesn’t mince words.

“Let me think about this.”

“Think quickly. If I don’t hear from you by Sunday, I’m rescinding my offer.”