Shannen Camp - The Breakup Artist

I decided that, while sitting next to him, I should probably just refrain from breathing because I could smell his perfect scent with every inhale. It wasn’t even a smell that I could describe. It was just perfect. It had the sharp dominance of cologne, with the soft undertones of a person’s natural aroma. No matter what I called it, it was wonderful. And it was definitely clouding my head and making my job much more difficult. This boy had to go. Steeling myself, I turned to face him, ignoring his brilliant green eyes.

“So Claire and I have been hanging out a lot lately and I think she-”

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” His interruption was so sudden and so final that I had to actually sit there for a minute and think about what he’d just said.

“Maybe this weekend?” he went on. “We could go grab a bite to eat.” I furrowed my brow and tilted my head to the side in confusion, still not comprehending his words.

“What about Claire?” I asked, suddenly finding my voice again.

“Oh her? We broke up earlier today. It just wasn’t working out. So how about it? I mean, I’m sure it makes me seem like a pretty big jerk to ask you out right after I broke up with your friend but I think you’re really interesting.” His words were spoken in English and I was sure they were forming complete sentences, but I still couldn’t understand anything he was saying.

“You broke up with Claire?” was all I could manage.

“Yeah. I don’t know if she’s said anything to you but we haven’t been getting along very well lately.” I shook my head dumbly, not really sure what I was shaking it at.

“Yeah but you broke up with her ?” He nodded more slowly this time, as if I wouldn’t understand what the gesture meant if he sped it up-which was probably true. But what I couldn’t understand was what this meant for me. Did I fail in my job? Would Claire be mad? Was this amazingly good-looking boy really asking me out? Would that be ethical to go somewhere with a job? All of these questions raced through my mind, muddling it so completely that I didn’t even notice when the bell rang for biology.

“I’ll just take that as a yes and see you at eight on Saturday.” And with that he was gone, and I was screwed.

The next day David was nowhere to be found at school. I didn’t spot him at his usual hangout and when I asked his friends they said he hadn’t come to school that day. Was it possible he was avoiding me so that I couldn’t call the date off, or was I just being paranoid? Either way, it was a very bad thing that I couldn’t get a hold of him. But then again, he couldn’t contact me either, could he? He didn’t have my phone number or address, so I should be fine. Letting this knowledge relax me a little, I went to my locker to find my history book, even though we probably wouldn’t need it for our promisingly boring lecture. At my locker stood a tall, skinny blonde girl in a cheerleading outfit. Her short hair was curled into tight ringlets and framed her face nicely. She leaned against my locker and tapped her foot impatiently as I approached. I obviously wasn’t walking fast enough for her.

She looked me up and down quickly, taking in my appearance and apparently gauging whether or not I could handle whatever she was about to throw at me. I smiled uneasily at her and stopped just short of my locker, hoping she’d either say what she had to say or get out of my way so I could get my stuff for class.

“Are you Amelia?” she asked, her voice appropriately haughty for someone of her high school social rank.

“Yeah, did you want to hire me for something?” To any normal passerby this probably would have sounded like an odd response to her question, but I had grown good at reading people and knowing when they were coming to me for a job-that, and there was the small fact that I had no friends and no one knew who I was. The cheerleader’s face lit up considerably at my words; she apparently hadn’t been convinced that I actually existed and was relieved to find that there really was someone who would save her from social awkwardness.

“Yeah, I need you to break up with my boyfriend Blane for me.” She handed over some information on the boy, and I dug my normal required fact sheet from my locker and gave it to her in turn.

“I need you to fill that out and give it to me tomorrow, along with a picture of the boy and your phone number so I can call you for any further information I need,” I said mechanically. The cheerleader gave me an odd look at this statement but didn’t say anything and simply took the paper.

“Um, Blane likes blondes… is that a problem?”

I laughed at this statement and shook my head.

“I’ll change it tonight. You do know I’m charging fifty, since it’s so close to prom, right?” She simply nodded and handed over a wad of cash. I counted it quickly and stuck out my hand. She shook it with a smile and the deal was made.

I didn’t spot David at all that day, which worried me beyond all belief. If I couldn’t find him by tomorrow, then there was actually a chance that this boy would somehow show up on my doorstep on Saturday. Even without knowing my address, I wouldn’t put it past him to mysteriously know exactly where I lived without having to ask anyone. This fact was unsettling and the burning blonde color stripper in my hair didn’t help to ease my discomfort. I always hated having to go from black to blonde overnight. It sometimes left my hair with an orange-ish tint that took a while to cover up. Tonight though, the fates smiled on me, and my hair turned a prissy platinum blonde without leaving me bald.

I removed the black nail polish and replaced it with bright pink, which meant I had to walk around my room with those uncomfortable foam toe separators on my feet while spreading my fingers like some sort of flying squirrel trying to take off. I skimmed through my extensive wardrobe and picked out a white pleated skirt that cut off several inches above my knee and a bubblegum pink tank top. I threw some hot pink stiletto heels into the mix and was done with my work assignment for that night.

Lexi Monroe, which turned out to be the cheerleader’s name (though I would have been just fine calling her cheerleader), had managed to send a picture of her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend from her phone to my email address. I hadn’t given her my email address, but since it was simply my full name, I guess it wasn’t that hard to figure it out. Her resourcefulness did surprise me, though. So, with her picture and fact sheet to guide me, I figured I could start this project tomorrow, even though I usually avoided working on a Friday, since it could sometimes run over into my uneventful weekends. This was my exception. I had to get back on my game or I was doomed. All right, so maybe I wasn’t doomed, but I was definitely in danger of losing my self-confidence.

I glanced at the fact sheet before me and tried to think of my plan of attack.

Name-Blane

Age-18

POI-Football, Parties, Cars

Deadline-Tuesday

Though the deadline was slightly shocking, his POIs were almost laughably predictable. It was like a jock stereotype straight out of a movie. I looked them over one more time to make sure I hadn’t invented them simply by expecting them to be there, and sure enough, there they were in all of their unsubstantial glory. Then again, I suppose someone without an original thought in her head doesn’t have much room to make fun of the interests of others.

I shook my head, figuring I could lure this one away simply by bending over in front of him in my less-than-modest skirt. It was definitely the easy way out, but Lexi never specified how I had to get rid of him, just that it had to be done so that his best friend could ask her to prom.