The Break-Up Artist

6

Part of me would love to see Michigan’s yearbook be a disaster as payback for taking advantage of my friend. But Val and I are good girls, so we’re spending our Thursday night working on captions.

We lie on her bed, staring at pictures of our fellow students smiling and laughing, making it seem as if Ashland High is the new Disney World.

The homecoming spread takes over her computer screen. She can’t take her eyes off the king and queen in the middle. Jealousy, hopefulness and sorrow mix together on her face.

“I don’t think she’s that pretty,” I say of Huxley, whose head seems shaped for a crown. “Her lips are too big, her waist too small and she has overly angular shoulders.”

“They’re so perfect,” Val says, clearly only thinking about her own imperfections. She can’t look away. She, like the rest of Ashland, is transfixed. Her hopes and dreams sit in that frame. I could tell her how funny and amazing and beautiful she is every hour on the hour, and it would make no difference. Because to her, the only proof of that is to have a boyfriend.

“Oh, please. No couple is perfect.”

“They aren’t? They’re so cute together. Holding hands down the hall. Cheering for each other at games. Once I actually heard them finish each other’s sentences.” She pulls up another picture of the power couple, one of many Michigan stuck her with. Steve “surprising” Huxley at her car with a giant teddy bear on Valentine’s Day. Girls talked about that one all week.

“It’s just a stuffed animal. It’s probably collecting dust in her basement,” I say, but it’s no use.

Val holds her computer next to my face for a side-by-side comparison I want no part in. “You know, I think that sweater and skirt she’s wearing would look great on you. Well, maybe not that peach color since your skin is much lighter—”

“Paler.”

“—lighter than hers. But maybe something similar...” Val’s eyes pivot between my outfit and Huxley’s.

“Doubtful.” I push the computer away.

“I’m serious. You’re a total catch. You’re so smart and pretty and all-around amazing, and it’s kind of ridonkulous that you don’t see that.”

“Really?” I know Val’s giving a stock friend speech, but she says it with so much gusto, I almost believe it.

“Yes! Maybe if you didn’t cover up like some Amish housewife. Seriously, how many cardigans can one girl wear?”

“The sky’s the limit.”

Huxley has a figure. I have a body, and it’s thin and unspectacular from all angles.

“I think if you stopped wearing three layers of clothing every day and showed yourself off a little, you would look dynamite! The guys at school would go crazy!”

“The guys can do whatever they want. I am not taking fashion tips from the homecoming queen from hell.”

“Didn’t you two used to be friends back in the day?”

“Moderate acquaintances.”

“Whoa, sorry.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “My mistake.”

Val jumps on her bed; her silky blond hair flaps her in the face. She won’t let this idea go quietly. “C’mon, don’t you want some male attention?” I know Val doesn’t mean to be insulting, but it still stings.

I stand in front of her full-length mirror. My looks are sufficient enough for my middle-of-the-road social status. Val’s help wouldn’t do much good. Calista is beautiful, but that isn’t enough apparently. Who knows what gets guys’ attention? I only play games when I know the rules.

“I’ll pass for now,” I tell her. “I think I’m yearbooked out, too.”

“Wait! I need to ask you for one more favor.”

“Seriously?” I groan and sit back down on the bed.

“I’ll give you a kidney someday.” She opens up her email. “Can you help me with something?”

“What?”

“I want to send Ezra an email.” She pushes the computer onto my lap.

“About homework?”

She shoots me a look. We both know that’s not likely. “I’ve been thinking about the other day in the lunchroom. He was totally flirting with me, but because I was incapable of stringing together a sentence, he probably thinks I’m not interested.”

“Are you interested?”

“I think so. He’s a really great guy,” Val says as if she’s now some kind of Ezra expert.

“Is he even your type? He’s kinda artsy.” I always see him reading published scripts or slipping DVDs into his backpack. He’s definitely an atypical Ashland boy.

“He’s such a talented filmmaker.”

“Have you ever watched any of his films?”

“No, but I’ve heard they’re very good.” Val opens up a Word document on her computer. “I think he’ll appreciate a really funny, thought-provoking email introduction. I don’t know. You’re more of a writer than I am. I need you to add some of your trademark Becca Williamson pizzazz.”

“I think he just broke up with Isabelle Amabile like a week ago?” Ezra gossip isn’t exactly front-page news. He’s one of those boys who’s just there, doing his thing in the background, not rocking the boat. Kind of like me.

“A week is a long time. The Earth was created in a week.”

“Wait,” I say, a memory springing to mind. “Didn’t it end badly with him and Monica Washington before that? Didn’t she go on some tirade?”

“The Diet Sprite incident,” Val says like it’s old news. “They broke up. Monica went ballistic and dumped a cup of Diet Sprite over his head during lunch.”

Yeah, that’s not something you want to hear about your friend’s crush. Val reads my face; she can probably sense my exact thought in some BFF ESP superpower.

“Monica is cray-cray. Remember the time in ninth grade when she went on that shoplifting binge at Home Depot, and we had to have that assembly about stealing? Ezra barely made it out alive. And Home Depot? Seriously? Set your sights a little higher.” She sticks up her finger for a pinkie swear. “Look, I promise I will not make a scene if we break up.”

“You two aren’t even together yet.”

Val fiddles with a loose string on her bedspread. “Ezra is obviously a romantic. If he’s not feeling it, then he’s not going to fake it just for the sake of being in a relationship. I thought you would champion someone like that.”

“I’m not not championing Ezra...” My voice trails off. I feel like a wet blanket next to Val. Either she’s too impulsive, or I’m too cautious. “I just don’t want you to get hurt or get stuck in something like yearbook again.”

“That’s so sweet,” Val gushes. “But I need to get in there quickly. And if I can’t do it face-to-face, then I will do it through email. But I need to strike now.”

“That sounds like a great battle plan, but do you actually like him? Or is this about having a boyfriend?” I cringe at how much of a killjoy I sound like. But it’s better than having my best friend risk public embarrassment or rejection.

“Neither of us has ever had a boyfriend, and that needs to change. I am tired of being in the minority, watching other people be all couple-y while I sit in the bleachers and act supportive. This is our time, Becca. Or, at least, my time.”

“Jeez, Val. Being single is not a death sentence.”

“Well, I won’t let it be a life sentence!” She grabs the laptop and retreats to her desk. “Are you going to help me or not?”

I can’t tell if she wants Ezra, or just a boyfriend. Someone to give her an oversize, inconvenient teddy bear. Val may not know the answer either. Vulnerability and desperation flicker in her eyes. I feel it, too. The couples in our school making the single—no, unattached—people feel inferior. I can only break up one couple at a time. I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s life; I just want the tide to change at our school, so that my best friend doesn’t have to carry around this anxiety, this insecurity that just because a guy doesn’t want to walk with her in the hallway or shove his tongue down her throat, there’s something wrong with her, with us.

“Val,” I say. She looks back at me. “Do you like him, honestly?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice regaining composure.

“What do you like most about him?”

“He has a really cute voice. It’s deeper than the guys at school, and he always sounds so smart when he talks.” Val hugs the pillow under her, an image of Ezra superimposed on her mind. “My favorite is when he speaks—his head always tilts up and his eyes look up and to the left. It’s awkward and adorable at the same time. If that even makes sense...”

Her cheeks redden. Although I am wary about how this all will end, nothing I say can change her mind. I just have to be ready and waiting with a box of tissues. I grab her computer. My fingers take over the keyboard. “We should include something about movies, of course. I saw him reading a biography of Martin Scorsese once.”

“Who’s that?” Val asks.

I hope this doesn’t blow up in her face.