The Break-Up Artist

30

Even Ezra chewing food is sort of cute. I dart my eyes at him for a split second while I stand in line to pay for my food. School has an added layer of excitement now. It’s a game we’re playing—sneaking glances in public, finding ways to brush against each other in the hall—and I want to win.

“Hey.”

I almost drop my salad. Behind me, Fred grips a tray with a Philly cheesesteak, potato chips and a regular Coke. I wish I could eat like that.

“Can we talk?” he asks. “In private.”

“Sure.” I sneak in a 1-2-3-look at Ezra while following Fred. We walk to the one pay phone left standing in school, possibly in the state. “What’s up?”

“Are you the Break-Up Artist?”

My stomach squeezes into a tight fist. I knew people would be suspicious eventually, but never thought I’d be accused point-blank. I don’t have time to prepare a story. Fred is drop-dead serious. He’s just looking for confirmation.

“What? No.”

“I saw you slip Steve’s phone into the couch cushions at Chris’s party. And then all that drama happened over the text messages. I started to think there was a connection.”

“I didn’t take his phone.”

“And then I remembered your revenge plot for Jeremy’s comics. The way you talked about it, it was strange, like you’d done it before.”

My hands are slick with sweat. I place my tray atop the pay phone. I thought I was so clever, so cautious, but apparently, I’m not invisible to everyone.

“Becca, I won’t tell anyone, but you have to stop.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, and he seems more nervous than me.

“Stop what?” I can’t even convince myself. “I’m not doing anything.”

Deny, deny, deny. Fred’s face sinks into a hangdog frown. He wants me to trust him, but I can’t. I can’t trust anyone with this secret. It’s too valuable not to use. He would be a hero to the school, to every school, to Huxley and Steve. His social standing would skyrocket. He’s too smart to not take advantage of that, and I won’t let him.

“I’m going to eat my lunch. The period’s almost over.”

“Bari keeps snooping around. She’s recruiting other girls who’ve used the Break-Up Artist. She’s getting closer. Whatever you’re planning, it’s not worth it. Give it up.”

I remain a locked fortress, and won’t even give him a nod.

“Listen.” He touches my arm then instantly pulls back as if I’ll bite. “I’m not sure why you’re doing this, but maybe it’s time to stop. You can’t manipulate people like this. Relationships are tough enough.”

“And how would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever had a girlfriend.” I pause, taken aback by my harshness. “Is the witch hunt over? Because I’d like to get back to my lunch table.”

He shakes his head, more like a teacher and less like a friend. “Don’t let me stop you.”

I leave Fred with the pay phone, and I fight back all feelings of guilt. His wounded expression burns into my memory, but I push it down. I have to look out for myself.

This will all be over soon, I repeat to myself. My time with Huxley is supposed to be temporary.

“You look flushed,” Huxley says. I take my usual seat across from her and her tiny green salad.

Greg horses around with Steve, punching his back and rubbing his shoulders. Huxley is not amused.

“Steve-o, we are going to tear up Chandler U! Like rip it from the ground. Start sleeping now, because this weekend is going to be nuts!”

Steve isn’t as hyper as Greg, but he can’t hide his dopey smile. He’s restraining himself for the table. Well, for one person in particular.

“Aren’t you already committed to going to Vermilion?” Huxley asks. “Isn’t it unethical to go on this visitors’ weekend?”

“I haven’t formally accepted either school yet,” Steve says. “My dad thinks I should check out Chandler before making up my mind.”

“You weren’t planning on playing football, though. Have you told them that?”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t completely shut that door, you know?”

“I thought your mind was made up.” Huxley keeps up her pleasant, sing-songy tone.

“I guess it’s not.”

The table gets quiet. Before any of their friends can second-guess the stability of their back-on relationship, Huxley scoops up Steve’s hands.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t close any door just yet. The weekend sounds amazing! I know you two will have a blast.” Huxley pecks his knuckles. He caresses her cheek.

“Thanks, Hux.”

Huxley pushes lettuce back and forth on her plate, and presses on one of her fake smiles.

Diane hates needles. In high school, she attempted to get her ears pierced, but flaked the second she sat in the chair. It wasn’t until her bachelorette party when Erin, Marian and Aimee got some Long Island Iced Teas in her and dragged her to a piercing place that she finally got them done. Sometimes, Diane needs to be pushed. Sometimes, she needs to be ambushed. I repeat this to myself as I sit in the living room waiting. I’m doing this for a good reason. Because I love her.

Diane walks into the living room, and the same look of hurt and betrayal that flashed across her face at Owen’s birthday party comes roaring back. Her shopping bags slip out of her fingers.

Erin, Aimee and Marian sit on the couch in various stages of drinking coffee. I stand up from the ottoman, my hands clasped. “Hey, Diane. Look who came to see you.”

Diane sits fully upright on the Throne across from them. If she were in etiquette class, she would get an A plus. I feel our track lighting beaming straight on me.

Erin and Marian seem as uncomfortable as me. Aimee, for once, is the quiet, passive one. Maybe it’s the pregnancy wearing her out.

“I’m so sorry about Owen’s birthday,” Erin says to Diane. The words puncture the silence like a fire alarm. “I had no idea you were coming, Diane. We’ve tried a million different ways to get in touch with you.”

“Finally, we decided to come over to make sure you were still breathing,” Marian says, flicking red hair out of her eyes.

“I am.” Diane rolls her bracelet around her wrist.

Erin looks at me for some help, but I can’t step in. I have to stay back. This isn’t my battle.

“Diane,” Erin says, sounding more desperate. “Please talk to us. We’ve been worried about you all year.”

“If you were so worried, then why are you only coming around now?”

“Why have you been ignoring us for the past year?” Marian asks. “We’ve called, texted, emailed. I think Erin wrote an actual letter and mailed it to you.”

“But you never came by the house. That would be too inconvenient for you, wouldn’t it?”

“No! Of course not,” Erin says, always the people pleaser. Baby Owen is going to be one spoiled child. “It’s just...”

“You’ve been too busy.” Diane shakes her head in disgust and points at Erin, Aimee and Marian. “A baby, an almost baby and a wedding. Who has time for the sad, pathetic friend?”

“You’re right, Diane,” Aimee says. “We were busy. Why would we visit you if you wouldn’t even pick up the phone? We love you, but we can’t put our lives on hold, and neither should you.”

Aimee glares back at Diane. She’s the muscle of the couch group. She possesses a bluntness and take-no-crap attitude that a woman needs if she’s going to work as a publicist while eight months pregnant. I would never tell Diane, but I always admired her.

“What Aimee means is that we are here to support you, but you can’t keep pushing us away,” Marian says.

“No, that’s not what I mean. What the hell is going on, Diane?”

“Why would you invite Sankresh and her to Owen’s birthday?” Diane says to Erin. Her entire body is still, poised to attack if need be.

“Because he returns phone calls,” Aimee says. “I’m not getting dragged down into your immature drama. It’s time to grow up and move on.”

Diane faces a wall of classic “I’m sorry you’re single” looks. In the mirror behind the couch, I catch my mom’s feet on the stairs. I want to join her so badly.

“It’s so easy for you to judge. Need I remind you that if it wasn’t for me befriending Bill senior year, you would still be single.” Diane looks up to the skylight. Tears form in her eyes, and she’s probably hoping gravity will push them back in. “The guy I loved broke up with me on the day of my wedding. You will never know what that feels like.”

“It’s not like you didn’t see it coming,” Aimee says. I want to throw her coffee in her face.

“What does that mean?” Diane says.

“Take off your rose-tinted glasses. There were plenty of warning signs, and you ignored all of them. Do you remember what happened at your bachelorette party? About two Long Islands in, you started crying about how you didn’t know if you loved Sankresh or not.”

I do a double take at Diane. I’m surprised she didn’t add dun dun dun.

“I was drunk!”

“But you still said it.”

“So I had a little bit of cold feet. I still loved him.”

“Dammit, Diane! Sankresh tried to break things off months before, but you wouldn’t have it. You knew he was such a pushover that you could talk him out of it. You were so hell-bent on getting married—”

“Get out!”

Before I have time to process this bombshell, Diane launches herself off the Throne.

“The only reason you guys came here was for a laugh. Oh, look how heartbroken Diane is. One year later, and it’s still hilarious. Well, you know what else is hilarious? Erin’s butt-ugly baby, Marian’s flaming husband and that eating disorder you had in college.”

Erin and Marian hop off the couch. Their shocked expressions quickly congeal into looks of pity. They lift Aimee off the couch. I bury my face in my hands, embarrassed enough for the two of us.

“You are pathetic, Diane,” Aimee says. Her words sting my ears. “But not for the reason you think.”

Once the women slam our front door shut, Diane whips her head around to me. I’ve never seen such darkness in her eyes.

“You ambushed me.”

A hydrogen bomb has exploded over my smart idea. I didn’t think this would happen, but I guess I don’t know my sister as well as I thought. “I wanted to help,” I say through tears. “Diane, you can’t keep living this way.”

“Do you think I want to? But how can I face anybody, when all they see is the jilted bride?”

“That’s what you see.”

What is she fighting against? It’s like she doesn’t want her life to improve. She just wants to keep hating Sankresh, and she can’t hate Sankresh if any part of her life doesn’t suck.

“Some sister you are. You steal your best friend’s boyfriend, and you think that makes you some relationship expert? Thanks a lot.”

I cry by myself in the living room a little longer before going to sleep. While lying in bed, I think about how beautiful Diane looked with pierced ears. She took them out right after the wedding, and the holes closed up a few weeks later. They didn’t leave any scars. It was like they never happened.