I go online, create a new email address and type away. I glimpse my costume peeking out from under my bed. I’m not Huxley’s BFF. I’m the Break-Up Artist. If I never tried out for SDA, Huxley would still be treating me like junk.
And Val. Ezra and I had a serious talk. That’s what friends do. They talk. And put their hands on each other’s lower back while talking. It’s completely, Switzerland-style, 110 percent platonic.
I reread and tweak the email about fifty times until it’s perfect.
To: AddisonG48
From: StevesDirtyLittleSecret
Subject: I know what Steve did last weekend.
Fun fact: Huxley found a condom wrapper and Angela Bentley’s lipstick in Steve’s car. (Ladybug’s her color, if you were wondering.) I guess old flames die hard. I doubt Huxley has mentioned this to anyone, but as one of her closest, dearest friends, I’m sure you’ll know how to handle this. I know you only want the best for her.
It warms my heart knowing she has a friend like you.
24
According to the website HuxleyandSteveCountdown [dot] com, Huxley and Steve have three-to-one odds to break up in the next month, seven-to-one odds to break up in the next week, and twelve-to-one odds that they’ve already broken up but are keeping it a secret. The site has become an obsession at Ashland, with anonymous posts speculating about their demise.
“Don’t people have anything better to do with their time?” Huxley asks me on the phone.
I multitask between playing the friend role and getting ready. I pose in front of my mirror wearing a cerulean one-shoulder dress that falls just above my knees. Who knew I could put myself together so well? “Just ignore it. They’re all jealous that their lives aren’t as interesting as yours.”
“Why are people cheering for the destruction of my relationship?”
“Because you’re popular and they’re ugly.” I hook in dangly earrings. “Why are you letting it bother you?”
“I’m not,” she says, but I sense hesitation in her voice. The gossip and rumors have infiltrated her mind. “Steve told me nothing’s going on with Angela. He says that stuff in his car was planted.”
“You should believe him. He wouldn’t lie to you.” I paint my lips with my Plumful lipstick.
“You’re right.” She tries to mask her worry and play it off like it’s a stupid joke. I can’t give her peace of mind, not if I want my plan to succeed. But when I think about it, I don’t have peace of mind to give. I don’t know if I buy the coincidence that Steve randomly bumped into Angela at the skating rink. Sure, lots of kids’ birthday parties take place there, but it seems too convenient.
“Do you know why he and Angela broke up in the first place?” I ask. “Do you really think it was distance?”
“Steve says things just didn’t work out. But that’s guys. No specifics.” I’m surprised he gave her that much explanation. “Do you think Steve’s cheating?” Huxley asks me quietly, and I can only imagine how tough that was for her to say out loud.
“I don’t think so.” I don’t sound convincing. I fan my hair out. It falls down my face in waves. Another great trick Huxley taught me. “Do you?”
“No. Are you excited?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I looked up Colin Baker on Facebook, and he is good-looking. Tall, athletic, smart, full brown hair, wire-frame glasses and a killer smile. Guys like this shouldn’t statistically exist. They shouldn’t be single ever. And they shouldn’t be interested in me.
My phone buzzes with a text from Val. You busy tonight?
And then my stomach squeezes into a tight ball.
I spent Friday dodging Val in school. When she came up to me after Latin, I bolted for SDA practice, where I avoided Ezra’s stare. But halfway through my routine, I realized that nothing had actually happened. We had one semiserious conversation where we got a little emotional, and we were tired. It was a long day. No big deal. It passed. There’s nothing more to read into it. He’s dating my best friend, and they’re happy.
Happyish.
Still, to be sure, I didn’t talk to him after practice.
“So where is Colin taking you?” Huxley asks.
“Windows on the Water.” The restaurant is perched on stilts on the Hudson River overlooking the New York skyline. I checked out their menu online and gulped when I saw the prices.
“That will be so romantic.” Huxley sighs heavily. “The beginning of a relationship is always the most exciting. I remember when Steve and I got together. There was a party at Travis Weber’s. Steve and I sat on one of those wicker porch benches outside, drinking Coke. He gave me his jacket to make sure I stayed warm. ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ was playing inside the house. We were talking about the differences between our school and his old school. You know, that mindless chatter that neither person cares about because you know you’re going to kiss any second. And then a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash fell out of his pocket.”
“Real suave, Steve.”
“Then there was a century-long awkward moment, and it hit me. I am going to get kissed. My life is going to change. I picked it up and asked, ‘So what’s this for?’ Then he kissed me, and I just knew.”
“You knew that you were in love with him?” I ask. I roll my eyes.
“Yes. I didn’t know it was love at the time, but I knew it was something.”
That something was a gargantuan leap in her social standing at the expense of our friendship. I didn’t know about the mouthwash story. I had heard about their hookup at Travis’s party secondhand. Not from her, of course. Does she really not remember what her life was like when they began dating? Has she suppressed it so completely that she honestly doesn’t remember what she did to me? I keep these thoughts to myself. I’m so close. Once I break up her and Steve, I can fill in the gaps of her revisionist history.
The doorbell rings, and my heart jumps for some strange reason. This is just research, with food involved.
“Did I just hear a doorbell?” Huxley asks.
“You did.” I peek out my window and see a guy in a blazer and jeans. I check myself once again in the mirror and take a deep breath.
“Come with me to Chris Gomberg’s party tomorrow night. Prepare to be grilled in the car ride over,” she says. “Good luck!”
“You, too. I hope everything works out with Steve.” I hang up and jog down the stairs, which can be deadly in heels.
“Have fun tonight,” Diane says. She leans on the banister with a bowl of popcorn nestled in her arm. “Try not to get pregnant.”
“Thanks.”
The doorbell rings again. I’m about to answer it when Diane pulls me back and scans my face.
“Don’t get too excited, B. It’s just a first date, and I can tell you how they end.”
I open the door. Colin Baker flashes his dimpled smile. I didn’t know those people in catalogs existed in the wild until now.
“You must be Becca,” Colin Baker says. Even his voice is cute. “Nice to meet you.”
I bite into the best salmon I’ve ever eaten while gazing at a luminous New York skyline. Meanwhile, a guy bursting with charm and good looks engages me in conversation about my life and seems genuinely interested. Can a Friday night get any better? No.
Then why do I feel bored?
“Curling?” he asks in disbelief.
“It’s like shuffleboard on ice.” I take a sip of my Diet Coke. “It’s big in Canada.”
He lets out a hearty laugh.
“Have you ever been to Canada? I once went skiing at Whistler in British Columbia. It was probably the nicest place I’ve ever been to.”
“Nicer than New Jersey?” I ask.